


The Clockwork Boy

by tfm



Series: Creatures of the Night [2]
Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Alternate Universe - Robot, Alternate Universe - Supernatural, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-20
Updated: 2010-08-25
Packaged: 2017-10-08 17:39:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 39
Words: 40,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/77934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tfm/pseuds/tfm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The BAU is divided by two cases that tests their loyalties. Some things are found. Some things are lost. Some things were never really meant to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Austin St. Clair checks her watch.

It’s a little over twelve hours since her brother Riley had knocked the droid out, and he shows no signs of regaining consciousness. She admits, she’s pleasantly surprised at the outcome – she’d expected that he might have some function that superseded the human need for unconsciousness. Were it not for the nuts and bolts that the good doctor had so kindly revealed for them, she would have had a hard time believing that he’s anything other than human.

Which is, of course, exactly what they’re looking for.

The hit to the head hadn’t been particularly hard, so she’s hoping that this kid will actually wake up at some point. He’s a little skinny, which might factor in, and unconsciousness aside, he looks exhausted. They’d been keeping an eye on him for a while, and by all accounts the Behavioral Analysis Unit’s last case had been pretty overwhelming. She’d almost had a heart attack when Riley had told her that the team had been captured by vampires. She really didn’t want to have to go searching for a new robot.

He’s on the sofa, legs so long they’re hanging over the end. It’s not particularly cold, but she’d put a blanket over him anyway. If nothing else it had made her feel better about what they’re doing.

 ‘Still out,’ she tells her brother, standing to face him. Austin’s about a foot shorter than Riley, but they’ve got the same dark, slightly wavy hair, the same green eyes.

‘Can you tell when he’ll be up again?’

She rolls her eyes. ‘I’m not a pre-cog, Ri.’

Riley shrugged, staring down at the prone form of Doctor Spencer Reid. ‘So what makes you think this one will be any different from the last five?’ he asks her.

She raises an eyebrow at him. Riley’s a smart guy, but he can be unbelievably obtuse sometimes. ‘Did you even watch the tapes I showed you? This guy – he shows human emotion unlike any ‘bot we’ve seen before. He laughs, he cries. He _feels_. That’s what we want, isn’t it?’

‘Sure, but something like this...I mean. It’s rare. We’re going to have a hell of a time tracking down whoever made this guy.’

Austin nods. She knows that Riley’s right on that point, at least. It had taken so long to track down Reid himself. Finding his maker is going to be a whole different can of worms.

They’d hired a hacker out of Elysium to retrieve as much data as possible on Reid without setting off the red flags put in place by the FBI. They’d been skirting the boundaries of legality enough already, but now she figures they’re guaranteed fugitives after kidnapping a federal agent.

They’d already X-rayed the body for markings, using a hand-held scanner that Riley had swiped from an FBI outpost in Freitas. Aside from a few scars that Austin assumes had been added for authenticity, the only unique attribute is a tiny symbol engraved on the metal framework of his left ankle. It’s a tiny thing, and she’d run it through have a dozen different filters, and enhanced it to the point where it’s blurred to hell, before being able to perceive the image as recognizable.

‘Looks like some kind of rune,’ Riley had said. ‘I can show it to a guy I know. See what he says.’

And that had been that.

Now, the only thing they have left to do, is wait for Spencer Reid to wake up. She thinks it’s kind of sad, that they’ve gotten to the point where they’re sitting around, drinking coffee, eating leftover carrot cake, and waiting for the robot they’d just kidnapped to wake up.

Maybe they’ve been doing this for too long.

Maybe it’s time to cut their losses, and give up. Surely mother would forgive them. Surely she hadn’t expected them to devote their lives to this. She knows that as soon as this is over, she wants out. She wants to leave Riley behind, with whatever benefits he’d reaped from this screwed up venture.

She’ll to Europe, maybe, where the history of the Fall is much richer. She doesn’t want to deal with this robotics crap anymore.

And that’s why she’s so glad they’ve found Spencer Reid.

As if on cue, the body on the sofa begins to stir.


	2. Chapter 2

The incessant beeping sound draws Penelope Garcia out of a blissful sleep.

She mutters half a dozen expletives, most of them made up, before realizing that the alarm in question is the alert that she’d had put on Reid’s apartment. She sits up with a jerk, the momentum actually sending her into the air for several seconds before she manages to let her wings fall into a steady beat and regain her balance.

Her own apartment is not the biggest of residents, but when you’re barely six inches tall, you don’t need that much room. Landlords had capitalized on that fact, and in almost every apartment building in the city, janitor’s closets had been converted into luxury miniature apartments, and least at several times their initial worth.

It’s a little past two in the morning; over half a day since they had gone home in the wake of their latest case. She’d assured Hotch that every single one of her systems would be keeping a watchful but distant eye on Spencer Reid.

One of those systems had found something.

She cuts the alarm, and brings up the relevant alert with the miniature keyboard that’s plugged into the side of the laptop. A few taps later, and video footage of the last thing she wants pops up on the screen.

She watches as they sneak into his apartment – the taller one first, followed, somewhat reluctantly by the shorter one, whom she thinks is female. They’re wearing camo-suits that tend to fool a lot of cameras, but Penelope Garcia isn’t easy to fool. All her programs are structured to compensate for those flaws.

A few moments later, they leave, carrying an unconscious Spencer Reid between them. She chokes back a teary gasp, as she sees the state of his arm. It’s been sliced open, revealing the circuitry beneath. Considering the events of the previous few days, she’s not sure if he had done that himself, or if his captors had been trying to determine if he really is a robot.

She follows the trio down to the parking garage, where they put Spencer in the back of a plateless vehicle, and drive off. There are no cameras on the streets nearby, so she can’t find anything after that. Part of her wants to keep looking, to find something that she can give to Hotch before calling him, but she knows that the Unit Chief will want to know of Reid’s abduction immediately.

Wings beating erratically, she pulls up her calling program.

*          *          *

He’s awake when he gets the call.

He doesn’t sleep so easily these days; not since the first encounter with the Prentiss clan several months ago. He fears that he’ll close his eyes and return to that horrible nightmare, where he isn’t in control of himself, where he’s been diminished to the mindless servant of the elder vampires.

He checks the Caller I.D screen briefly, seeing that it’s Garcia calling, which means it’s definitely not good news, especially considering that the entire team had been ordered to take the next five days off, and so far, it’s only been about twelve hours. In addition to that, Garcia knows better than to call him at two o’clock in the morning.

‘Garcia?’ he says sharply, not bothering with niceties. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘It’s Reid, sir,’ she says, her voice even more high-pitched than usual. ‘Someone’s taken him.’

Hotch allows himself a full second to let the words sink in. _Someone’s taken Reid_. The moment that second is up, he’s on his feet, pulling a pre-ironed suit from his wardrobe.

As Unit Chief, he takes responsibility for his team; both their actions, and their safety. He had known of Spencer Reid’s condition long before an evil vampire had decided to make it known to the young agent, and he can’t help but feel that the disappearance of his agent is all his fault.

If he had just _told _Reid earlier, they might not be in this position.

‘What do you have?’

He switches the phone to speaker, putting it down on the nightstand while he dresses.

‘Video footage – two unsubs in camo-suits, one is most likely female. They pick the lock on his apartment door, and a few minutes later they’re carrying him away.’

‘How long ago?’

‘Um.’ The fairy speaks with uncharacteristic softness, though her voice is still high-pitched. ‘Timestamps say that this happened around twelve hours ago. I only just got the alert...I’m so sorry.’

‘This isn’t your fault Garcia.’ It’s _his_ fault. ‘I’m about to call JJ – are you ready to leave?’

The fairy chokes back a sob. ‘Always, sir.’

‘I’ll see you at the office, Garcia.’ He clicks the phone shut before she can hear his breakdown.

‘Damnit!’ His closed fist punches at the wall, leaving a sizeable dent, and blood-stained knuckles. Still, it’s better he lose control here, than at the office, where someone might see him.

Because right now, it feels as though everything is falling apart.


	3. Chapter 3

Emily wakes up with the sensation of a warm body pressed against her.

It’s been a hell of a long time since she’s woken up with a man in her bed, even longer since the man in question has stayed the night after getting what he’s come for.

It’s a couple of seconds before she realizes why, exactly, she had woken up. There’s a repetitive ringing sound – not her phone.

‘Morgan?’ she nudges him awake softly, at the same time regretting having to do so. He’s exhausted after the full moon, after the last case, after everything that’s happened. Still – she hasn’t been around long, but she gets the feeling that sleepless nights are a regular occurrence in the BAU.

‘Whassit?’ he mumbles, rolling to face her.

‘Your phone.’ She hands it to him, the small black device vibrating in her hand.

‘Hello?’ he answers, and there’s a beat of silence, during which his face goes from barely awake to completely alert. If Emily didn’t have the superhuman hearing, she would have questioned the look. However, she’d heard exactly what the person on the other end of the line – JJ – had said.

Reid’s missing.

‘How long?’ asks Morgan, brow creasing into an obvious display of concern.

‘_Twelve hours ago_._’_ JJ’s voice is almost apologetic, and Emily isn’t surprised. Reid is like a brother to Morgan.

‘Son of a bitch.’

‘_Is Emily with you?_’ At any other time, there might have been some level of amusement in the media liaison’s voice. Now, though, there’s only worry.

‘Yeah. We’ll be there in forty.’ He hangs up, letting his head fall into his hands. ‘Fuck.’

Emily puts an arm around his shoulders, feeling slightly awkward about doing so. Her few days in the unit has nothing on whatever relationship the rest of the team have built up over time. She might be able to boast some physical closeness to Morgan, but she doesn’t really _know_ him that well.

Hopefully, that will come with time.

‘We need to go,’ she says, and he doesn’t need telling twice. They’re ready and out the door within ten minutes.

Hopefully, they won’t be too late.

*          *          *

The last thing he remembers is being knocked out.

Granted, he’s been an FBI agent for three years, and he’s been knocked out more times than he can count on one hand. He seems to be some kind of chaos magnet. Now though, knowing what he knows – that just makes things all the more confusing.

He can remember now, at least one occasion on which he’s bled – two years ago, after being shot by a spelled arrow. He’d attempting seducing almost every single member of the FBI before Rossi had managed to track down a spell reversal, yes, but there’d also been some blood. Or at least, that’s what he remembers. He thinks hard, willing his mind to open itself up and reveal the truth.

The more he thinks about it, the more he remembers that it might not have been blood at all. But he isn’t sure. It could be psychosomatic.

His arm isn’t bleeding.

He looks down at the exposed circuits, where he had sliced himself open. And then, after that...

Someone had attacked him.

He sits up suddenly, aware of the fact that he isn’t in his apartment. He isn’t anywhere he recognises. And he isn’t alone.

There’s a woman standing at the end of the sofa that he’s on. She has dark, wavy hair, and soft green eyes. He’d consider her fairly attractive if not for the fact that she’s just kidnapped him.

‘Doctor Reid...?’ she asks tentatively. The profiler (profiling software?) in Reid wants to believe that she’s genuinely concerned, but he’s met more than one unsub that can put on an act.

There’s a man in the room, too – the same dark hair, the same green eyes (a brother? A cousin?), but he lacks the concerned attitude.

‘What did you do to me?’ he asks, aware of the fact that he sounds completely and utterly bewildered. He is bewildered – just a little bit. He has no idea why these people have taken him.

‘My name is Austin,’ she says, as if that might mean something to him. ‘We need your help.’

‘Help?’ he asks, and the bewilderment is far more genuine this time. ‘You kidnapped me to ask for help?’

She looks a little embarrassed at that claim, for which he’s glad – if there’s remorse, then there’s a greater chance that he’ll get out of this alive. (Is he alive anyway?).

‘We weren’t...’ she starts, a little flustered now that he’s called her out. ‘We...we need answers.’

And Reid can’t help but think that they’re not the only ones.


	4. Chapter 4

‘I can’t help you,’ Reid says, struggling to get to his feet. There’s a mix-up somewhere between his brain and his legs, and he trips on the blanket that’s covering the lower half of his body. He puts out a hand to stop his fall, sending a rush of pain up his arm. Breath comes in short gulps, and he drops to his knees. The hyperventilating subsides with the pain, and when it does, he realizes that there’s someone standing at his side, their hand on his shoulder.

‘Are you alright?’ Austin asks him, concern in her eyes. ‘He wasn’t supposed to hit you so hard.’

‘He’s a robot, Austin. What the fuck does it matter? He can’t feel shit.’

Austin rolls her eyes, as though it’s a joke, as though this hadn’t been a kidnapping. ‘He does feel, Riley. That’s the whole fucking point. We wouldn’t need him if he wasn’t as close to human as we’re gonna get.’

As close to human as we’re gonna get. The words sting as he hears them – a harsh reminder that he _isn’t_ human. As if the arm hadn’t been enough. In such a situation he would normally default on his mind, but this situation is so chaotic, that he’s not entirely sure he can trust his mind. It’s just a piece of technology that someone else had programmed. They say he feels, but how true is that really?

‘I can’t help you,’ he repeats, this time in a mumbling tone. He pushes Austin’s hand off his shoulder, and stands without any major incident. ‘I only just...I thought I was human.’

‘Oh...’ It’s a hollow sound, part disappointment, and part – if he isn’t mistaken – pity. ‘You...you have no idea who made you?’

‘No. But if I did...’ He lets his voice trail off. What _would_ he do if he met the person that made him? He wants to know the answers – he needs to. Answers are what define him. He’s always been the man with the answer. He can tell you pi to a thousand digits; can recite the complete works of half a dozen authors; can calculate the trajectory of a planet’s orbit. But he doesn’t know what he is. Doesn’t know _who_ he is. Not really. ‘I want to know,’ he amends, with a tiny shrug.

He’s almost about to suggest that they would be better suited letting him return to the BAU to find out, but then he realizes he’s not sure if he wants to go back there just yet.

*          *          *

It’s three thirty a.m by the time they all make it in. If anyone’s tired, Hotch thinks, they’re trying like hell not to show it. They crowd into Garcia’s batcave to watch the video footage the fairy had compiled. Garcia herself is flitting about the room in a panic, never stopping for more than a few seconds at a time. She finally does stop when Hotch starts to speak.

‘Alright,’ he says. ‘First up, we need to find out who these people are, and why they’ve taken Reid.’ They’re just about to scatter when there’s a knock on the door.

‘Agent Hotchner, could I speak with you for a moment please?’ It’s Deputy Director Ganash, and he looks nothing, if not frazzled. He hasn’t told any of his superiors about Reid’s disappearance yet, which means that there are _other_ goings on that aren’t good news. It’s definitely the week for it.

They step outside, at which point Ganash hands him a case file. ‘I need your team to look into this,’ he says matter-of-factly.

‘One of my agents is missing,’ Hotch reveals. ‘Agent Reid was taken from his apartment yesterday afternoon.’

There’s a moment of silence. Ganash is taking in the information just given to him. ‘There are no other teams free, Agent Hotchner. This is a matter of vital importance.’

Hotch flips through the file. Three dead witches in three days; such narrow margins makes it high priority. But not high enough to make him consider letting go of Reid’s disappearance.

‘These witches had links to “suspect organizations,”’ says Hotch, seeing the note in the file. ‘Doesn’t that make it a Counter-Terrorism case?’

‘The Counter-Terrorism Division has taken point,’ admits Ganash, ‘But I would feel more comfortable if there were at least some profilers involved in the investigation.’

Hotch relaxes slightly, but he’s still feeling very anxious about the situation. Reid’s missing, after all. ‘I can spare Agent Rossi – he has the necessary experience in the magical field.’

Ganash sighs. ‘This could look bad for you, Aaron,’ he says, ‘Politically speaking. Yes, I understand that your team did what you had to do – but some people are questioning your judgment. This will only be exacerbated if you only send Agent Rossi; the risk of fall-out is high.’

He’s caught between a rock and a hard place. On the one hand, there are civilian lives at stake, and on the other hand, there’s Reid.

‘I’ll send another agent with him,’ he concedes. ‘But I’d prefer to have everyone else on the hunt for Agent Reid. As you know doubt read in my report, he’s experiencing some identity crisis, and any period of chaos could be detrimental to his health.’

Ganash nods. ‘I’ll expect your frequent updates, Agent Hotchner. While the Bureau finds a replacement for Agent Strauss, I will be your direct superior.’

Hotch nods, hoping like hell that they can get through _this_ case without anything terrible happening.


	5. Chapter 5

‘There have been some adjustments to the plan,’ Hotch says as he comes back into the batcave. The look on his face isn’t exactly a happy one, but then, it never is. This look is decidedly more irritated than his usual subdued state, though.

‘What’s going on?’ Morgan asks, knowing that whatever it is, it definitely isn’t good news.

‘We have a case,’ he tells them shortly, continuing before anyone has time to argue. ‘I tried to pass it off, but it’s high priority, and I need at least two of you working on it.’ He hands one of the case files in his grasp to Rossi, who takes it with no argument. The other, he holds out to Morgan, who already knows that he isn’t going to accept this without a fight.

‘No way, man,’ he says. ‘Hotch...this is _Reid_ we’re talking about. I can’t just go work another case. I don’t care how high priority this is. I am not going to let him down,’ he says fiercely, and it’s more than just a sense of loyalty that has him saying this. It’s guilt, it’s responsibility. He might have lost one of his closest friends because of his betrayal.

To his surprise, though, Hotch doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t reprimand him for his outburst. Doesn’t even acknowledge that he’s spoken. Instead, he passes the file to Emily, who takes it with some surprise. She turns her gaze to his, and they share eye contact for a moment, before he breaks away. He understands the need to do it, but that doesn’t mean he has to like it.

‘You’ll be co-ordinating with Special Agent Todd in CTD,’ Hotch tells them. ‘They’re waiting for you.’

Rossi and Emily make their exit, leaving the decidedly diminished team to find out what they can about why Reid had been kidnapped.

‘Garcia, find what you can on the identity of his attackers. JJ, Morgan – we’re going to Reid’s apartment to examine the scene.’

*          *          *

Emily stops by her desk to pick up her bag before they take the elevator up to the eighth floor. Rossi’s in his office sorting out his briefcase. She admits, they aren’t exactly ideal circumstances for a case – she’s barely had time to look over the file – and she isn’t quite sure what to make of the look Morgan had given her.

‘Ready to go?’ Rossi’s asking her thirty seconds later. She gives a slight shrug.

‘Sure.’

She flips through the file on their way up to the eighth floor, which takes all of two minutes. She’s read enough to know that in the past three days, three witches with links to suspicious organizations have turned up dead – judging by the thinness of the file, she’s fairly sure that that’s all CTD know as well.

They’re greeted at the entrance to the Counter-Terrorism bullpen by a woman with dark hair and olive skin. She’s a witch too, if Emily’s profiling skills are up to par. Her hands are curled in an offensive spell-casting mode, and there’s a pair of tiny gold moons on the corner of her jacket collar. She doesn’t know what Order that makes the woman apart of, but she’s pretty sure Rossi will.

‘Jordan Todd,’ she introduces herself. ‘You’re with the BAU?’

Rossi nods, taking the lead. ‘David Rossi. This is Emily Prentiss.’

‘This is all of you?’ Jordan frowns.

‘Our colleagues are...otherwise engaged. I assure you, we have the necessary skills to assist you in this investigation.’

She’s not entirely happy with that response, but Emily understands the reason why. She doesn’t know the reason the rest of the team is otherwise engaged. Rossi doesn’t mention it, which she also understands. As undesirable as it sounds, they need to put Reid out of their minds. They won’t be able to focus at all if their thoughts are elsewhere.

Agent Todd leads them to where the rest of her team are set up; there are around half a dozen of them gathered in a conference room that she’s pretty sure has the exact same floorplan as their own. The layout is a little different though – the table is oblong, and the whiteboard is on the opposite side of the room.

‘So far,’ Jordan says, in an attempt to bring them up to speed, ‘We have three witches – all members of a different rogue organization. All three were killed using non-magical techniques.’

‘Which organizations?’ Rossi asks, his stare focused intently on the corpses being projected onto the wall.

‘The Matrons of the Dark, Anath’s Circle, and Death’s Horde. Your average cookie-cutter evil organization names.’

Rossi nods, but the look on his face is a little more than just his usual determined profiler face.

‘Problems?’ Emily asks him, and he gives an uncharacteristic shrug.

‘We’ve had dealings with Anath’s Circle before. Probably nothing, but...’

‘Nothing is ever nothing,’ Emily finishes.


	6. Chapter 6

He watches with the smallest amount of trepidation as Austin returns to the room with a first-aid kit. Of all the times he’s been kidnapped, this is most definitely the strangest. He knows that Riley has no interest in his well-being, but Austin seems to genuinely care. Of course, that could all be a ruse to make him trust her, and in turn, help them in their quest.

What their quest is, he already knows; they want to find out who made him. Why, though , is another matter altogether. He can assume, by logical reasoning, however, that they’re probably interested in acquiring a robot of their own. Hopefully, he’ll be able to find some way of talking them out of it.

He sits up, letting Austin take his arm. She examines the wound, though he’s not really sure he can call it a wound. If he were human, he’d see blood and flesh and muscle, but instead he sees the wires and circuitry and metal joints. He’s read papers on Artificial Intelligence; on both the psychology of it, and on the more technical aspects. Even with a world full of magic, he had found it difficult to believe that something so complex as the human mind could be made from scratch. Life itself, he thinks, is a different kind of magic altogether.

She wraps the arm with a white elastic bandage, securing the flap of what must be some kind of synthetic skin back into place. It’s not a particularly professional job, but then, she doesn’t have any medical experience. That much he knows just from looking at her. She’s intelligent – much more intelligent than people give her credit for – but she doesn’t have the vocational skills to back it up. He thinks the same about her brother, though he’s a little brawnier.

‘What do you know?’ Riley asks him sharply; he has an aggressive stance that Reid doesn’t like the look of. Chances are, this man won’t be giving him the benefit of the doubt. He’s going to need to rely on his intelligence to get him through this – while it may have been agreeable approach to the situation a week ago, he isn’t so sure his intelligence can be trusted anymore. He doesn’t know what kind of mental blocks are in place to stop him from finding out the truth. In fact, he’s almost surprised that he hasn’t forgotten about the revelation already.

‘I don’t know anything,’ he shrugs, ‘I already told you that. Up until two days ago, I thought I was human. I have memories of my childhood, of growing up. There’s nothing in there to indicate that it’s all a fabrication. No seams, or disjointedness...’

‘How can you be so sure?’ Riley demands. ‘The human mind is fallible, right?’

‘Well that’s the whole point,’ argues Reid. ‘I’m not human, am I?’ It hurts to say the words aloud, even if he knows they’re true.

‘But when you thought you were human – even then, you had near perfect recall? Sounds like you were near enough to a machine anyway.’

‘Riley,’ Austin says, with noticeable anger in her voice. ‘Drop it, okay?’

Reid stands up, his mind having been set in motion by the brief argument. ‘There’ll be records,’ he says, with some excitement. ‘All robotic government employees have paperwork, including their factory of origin.’ The excitement drops away as soon as he realizes what he’s just said. Factory of origin. As though he’s just off a production line.

As a human, he had been unique; high IQ, eidetic memory. “The BAU’s pride and joy,” Morgan had called him jokingly, one day. As a robot, though, he’s anything but unique. He’s not special. He’s just a machine. Knowing that doesn’t hurt as much as the betrayal does.

‘We’ve checked the records...’ starts Riley, seemingly frustrated that Reid thinks that they haven’t thought of that.

‘You’ve checked the public records,’ he counters. ‘The FBI databases aren’t something you can just waltz into. We have some very skilled technical analysts...’ Pain shoots through him at the thought of Garcia – at the thought of her knowing, but not telling him. Of all of them knowing, but not telling him. Emily, he thinks he might be able to forgive – after all, they’ve only known each other for three days, and the pain is so much less than for the people who have been his colleagues, his friends, his _family_, for so long.

‘Do you think you can hack those records?’ Austin asks him.

Spencer Reid just smiles.


	7. Chapter 7

Garcia watches the security footage for what feels like the hundredth time. There’s nothing there that will help her any more than it already has – there’s already an APB on the vehicle; every traffic drone and police cruise from here to Erlenmeyer will be keeping an eye out for it. Every characteristic of their unsubs has been input into the search engine, but singling out those two nameless, faceless individuals will be next to impossible without further data.

What she needs is coffee.

What she _really_ needs is a miracle, but those are in short supply since the Leprechauns decided they didn’t want to take any more bullshit from the rest of the world. With so much real magic, it’s sometimes hard to believe that you still have to take the good with the bad.

Penelope thinks that there’s been entirely too much of the bad, lately. There’s always too much of the bad. It’s those tiny moments of good that they need to live for.

She makes herself a miniscule cup of coffee, using the Fairispresso maker that Reid had bought her last Christmas. She feels the guilt shoot through her, and it’s a lot of guilt for such a tiny body.

Penelope Garcia does not like to lie.

Their jobs are all about honesty – about finding the absolute truth of a person, of how they tick, of who they are. Lying seems so incongruent. And yet, when Spencer Reid had joined the team, she’d kept her mouth zipped at Hotch’s request. It had been hard at first, and once it had become easier, she’d started hating herself for the fact that it _was _so easy. The strange thing is, though, she’d never seen him as anything other than human.

He’s a robot, and she knows that, but the way he smiles when he’s telling her about how the Fall of Man led to an uprising in countries around the world, the way his face becomes so crestfallen when he realizes that there’s no coffee left. She’s not sure who had made him, but she does know that whoever it was, they’d done a fantastic job. And that’s the problem.

No regular droid would be this upset. No regular droid.

And there’s the rub. What’s missing is the victimology. She knows why Spencer Reid had been kidnapped, even if none of them are willing to admit it.

She’s shaking a little, not just from the caffeine, as she brings up the FBI Personnel Database.

**FBI Personnel Database&gt;BAU&gt;Doctor Spencer Reid.**

It’s not a small file, by any means.

This is going to take a while.

*          *          *

They don’t find anything that stands out at Reid’s apartment. There’s nothing besides the unlocked door, and a knife on the floor to suggest that anything had even happened. Hotch calls for a forensics unit anyway – they need anything they can get right now.

‘Can you smell anything?’ Hotch asks of Morgan, who’s one step away from getting on his hands and knees and inhaling the floorboards.

‘Human,’ he says, eventually, a slightly pained look on his face. ‘That’s all I can tell you.’ He’s upset that he can’t give anything more.

‘It helps,’ Hotch says decidedly. ‘2.8 percent out of a hundred is a much narrower margin.’

Morgan nods, but the look on his face remains. Hotch doubts it will leave until they get Reid back – alive. He doesn’t know what they’ll do if the young profiler doesn’t survive. He doesn’t know what _he’ll_ do. He’s lost agents before, but this time seems so much more like it’s entirely his fault.

He examines the knife with gloved fingers. The security video had showed the smallest segment of circuitry, and the blade has some substance on it that he can’t quite identify. Whether Reid had done this himself, or whether his assailants had done it to confirm his nature isn’t quite clear yet. Without forensics to tell them otherwise, either option is viable.

He calls the crime scene unit, who will come and search the apartment for any hidden evidence, physical, magical, or otherwise. Hopefully, there will be something there to tell them where Reid is, but until that time, all they have is the profile.


	8. Chapter 8

There are three boxes sitting on the desk; files pertaining to three different terrorist organizations. Emily looks pointedly at the box that reads, “Anath’s Circle.”

Anath. Semetic war goddess originally found in Ugaritic tradition. Predates the Fall of Man by at least two thousand years. She’s fairly sure that the people who involved in the group have no idea as to the actual history of Anath; capitalizing on the symbolism of the name. She doesn’t know much about it herself, but she figures that Rossi has some knowledge on the matter, considering he’s investigated them before.

‘Tell me,’ she says, gesturing towards the box.

‘Brutal, organized, committed. They don’t like to go down without a fight. If there’s someone out there killing extremists, you can bet that the extremists will be trying to hunt them down as well.’

‘That’s not what I meant.’ Her voice is soft.

He nods. ‘I know.’

He shifts slightly, almost hesitant. He looks...regretful. It seems a little strange – she hasn’t known him long, but regretful doesn’t seem as though it’s an emotion he usually portrays.

‘It was three months ago. We were working a serial case – a dozen dead children. Ritual sacrifices.’

The words sound somewhat familiar, and he doesn’t even need to keep talking for her to realize just why this group has stuck in David Rossi’s memory. JJ had told her on her first day in the unit; Agent Elle Greenaway, killed in the line of duty.

By Anath’s Circle.

‘Greenaway,’ she whispers, and he nods with an expression that’s almost approaching a grimace.

‘We only dealt with one cell; there are dozens more out there, at least. We need to find out why our unsub is targeting these extremists, and how we can stop them from killing again.’

Neither of them bring up the thought that maybe it’s best to let this unsub keep killing. That’s not what the job is, and if they let this one go, it has the potential to spiral well out of their control.

‘Is there any common link between these groups?’ Emily asks Agent Todd, whose head is cocked slightly to the side.

‘Aside from their extremist behaviour, there are no similarities with regards to motivation, how they carry out their attacks...’

‘We need to look through every detail of these files,’ says Rossi, looking at the boxes. ‘Any single detail that might link these groups.’ He looks to Emily. ‘Call Garcia – see if she can fit in some cross-references in between what she’s doing for Hotch.’

Emily nods, pulling out her phone.

‘_You have reached the office of the Great Fairy Goddess, speak and be recognized, mor...immortal.’ _The fairy’s voice seemed to be a little higher than usual, which put it almost out of the range of human hearing, but not out of range of vampire hearing.

‘How’s the search going?’

‘_Not much so far,_’ the fairy sighs. ‘_But what can I do for you?_’

‘If you have time, I need to you see if you can find a connection between Anath’s Circle, the Matrons of the Dark, and Death’s Horde.’

‘_I’ll see what I can do,_’ Garcia buzzes. ‘_Good luck._’

She pulls out the incident report for the death in the line of duty of Special Agent Elle Greenaway. The reports bear the names of the agents involved – Hotchner, Morgan, Rossi, Jareau, Reid – but they seem clinical. Detached, almost. She reads Hotch’s account first, and even though it has that detached language, she can still feel the guilt, just by reading it.

He has a lot on his shoulders.

The events had played out rather straightforward: the team enters the house, splitting up to clear for hostiles. It had been their suspicion that any ritual sacrifices were performed in the basement, which is where the majority of agents had gravitated towards. Agent Greenaway had cleared the top floor of the house with Agent Hotchner. One member of Anath’s Circle had fired off a bolt of blue energy that none of the forensic investigators had been able to identify. It hit Greenaway, and Hotchner fires three magic-dampening bullets in return. The extremist is killed, and Greenaway’s body is nowhere to be seen, presumable disintegrated by the bolt of energy.

The team had been given a week of leave, including the funeral. By all account, Hotch had refused to take this time. It doesn’t surprise Emily in the least. She’s fairly sure that Aaron Hotchner would come into the office with the apocalypse raging outside, just to finish up his paperwork.

‘You think it’s related?’ Rossi asks, taking note of the file that she’s reading.

‘I think it’s _relevant_,’ she corrects. ‘Whether or not Agent Greenaway’s death has anything to do with our case though...I’m not sure. It’s difficult to make a judgment call without knowing all the details.’ She takes a look at the rest of the boxes that had been brought up from archives. The first three had been just the beginning of it.

There’s a lot of reading to do.


	9. Chapter 9

Looking at the multitude of data in Spencer Reid’s file, Garcia opens a document at random. She raises an eyebrow at the thoroughness of Bureau recordkeeping – the document is an essay from Reid’s first undergraduate degree, entitled _The Rise and Fall of Humanity._

‘Interesting reading?’ a high voice asks from the door. She turns to see Kevin Lynch flying towards her, his wings beating furiously.

‘What are you doing here, hot stuff?’ she asks, not entirely disappointed at his presence. She likes the other fairy, his cheery disposition a ray of light in amongst the doom and gloom that’s been so omnipresent lately.

‘Well, technically speaking, a missing agent is of some concern to Internal Affairs,’ he says, adding after a beat. ‘I figured you might need some help.’

She gives a nod. ‘You take those machines – we’re going through his personnel files, looking for anything that might be a little hinky. You take his FBI years; I’ll attack everything through to college.’

‘That in itself seems a little strange, doesn’t it?’ Kevin asks, situating himself in front of a second keyboard.

‘What do you mean?’

He hesitates.

‘Go on, boy wonder, I’m not going to bite your head off.’ She balks a little – Kevin reminds her of Reid in some ways. A little nervous. Completely adorkable.

‘Well...if he’s a robot, then why would he need education – why not just...upload the knowledge?’

Garcia ponders the question for a moment. It breaks her heart to think of Reid as anything other than human. And maybe that’s the point.

‘To make him seem more human?’ she ventures. ‘After all, we’re nothing but a product of our memories, our knowledge, right?’

‘I guess so,’ Kevin concedes, his feet tapping away at the keyboard. ‘Huh...this is strange.’

‘What is it?’ Garcia flies towards him, hovering just inches above the space-bar.

‘There’s a whole section that’s been wiped completely clean. I can’t find any traces.’

‘Which section?’

He taps a few more keys, tiny brow furrowing. ‘The section regarding his recruitment into the Bureau. We have high school, college, more college, and then blank. Next think we know, Spencer Reid is a Special Agent at 21. Wow. I was still learning how to fry harddrives at FTech when _I _was 21.’

‘May I?’ Garcia asks, and Kevin steps to one side. She types a few commands in, confirming that what Kevin says is right. There’s a six month period in which, according to Reid’s file, he did nothing at all.

‘So do we think that this has something to do with why they took him?’ Kevin asks tentatively.

Garcia nods, and then shakes her head. ‘I don’t know. Maybe. It’s hard to tell. But I know that I do need to show this to the terrible trio.’

*          *          *

JJ meets them in the downstairs lobby – she’d been questioning the landlord, and anyone else that might have seen anything.

‘Anything?’ Hotch asks, and Morgan notices the inherent tiredness in the Unit Chief’s voice. This is taking its toll. He won’t be surprised if Hotch breaks down sometime in the near future.

‘A car,’ she says. ‘In the three days before Reid’s disappearance, both the landlord, and some of the residents reported seeing an unfamiliar car in the street outside the apartment building. The windows of the car were tinted, so they couldn’t see the occupants, but I have a description, and a plate number.’

Hotch lets out a quiet breath. If they can find the owner of the vehicle, chances are they should be able to find out who has Reid, even if it might not be enough to tell them where their colleague actually is.

Morgan takes to the driver’s seat, knowing that if he lets Hotch at the wheel, then there’s a chance they’ll end up dead before they find Reid. He’s not much better himself, he realizes, when taking a corner far too fast elicits a short gasp from JJ in the back seat. The media liaison is on the phone to Garcia, getting the tech to run the plates of the vehicle described by their interviewees.

They’re greeted at the elevator by a buzzing white blur – Kevin. Morgan raises an eyebrow at the IA tech’s presence.

‘Garcia’s in the middle of something,’ he says, darting figure eights around them. Like most fairies, he doesn’t seem to like sitting still, unless it’s on someone’s shoulder. Morgan gets that – it’s not unlike the quasi-freedom he has as a wolf. ‘She got all quiet and kicked me out.’

Hotch raises an eyebrow. ‘Do you know what it is she’s doing?’

Kevin shakes his head vigorously. ‘All I know is that we were going through Reid’s personnel file, and then someone else infiltrated the system.’ He gives a slightly forlorn look as he adds, ‘She wouldn’t let me help backhack.’

Hotch is gone in a flash, headed in the direction of Garcia’s lair. Morgan gives a slight shrug to JJ, and then follows the Unit Chief.

‘Garcia...’ Hotch starts, as the door swings open.

‘Little busy here, G-Man.’ Her voice is uncharacteristically sharp, and Morgan knows that it’s not just his imagination that there’s a little bit of hurt in her words as well.

‘What’s going on?’ Hotch asks, ‘Who’s trying to infiltrate the system?’

Morgan doesn’t need an answer to that. He’s pretty sure that they all already know what’s going on. He voices his thoughts anyway.

‘It’s Reid.’


	10. Chapter 10

He stares at the screen, a little dumbfounded. His fingers rest on the keyboard unmoving. It almost looks as though he’s trapped in some kind of trance. Austin wonders if the FBI have that kind of security – using vampires to mesmerise targets from a distance.

‘Spencer?’ she says, a little hesitant.

‘It’s Garcia,’ he says, a little quietly, and it takes Austin a few seconds before she realizes what he’s talking about. The name’s in the data they _had_ managed to retrieve – Penelope Garcia, fairy technical analyst, Behavioral Analysis Unit.

‘She’s in the system?’ Riley asks from behind them. His arms are crossed, and he doesn’t exactly look happy, but that’s something that Austin is used to. Her brother doesn’t exactly like the idea of letting their “prisoner” have so much freedom.

‘She’s looking through my file,’ Reid confirms, and it’s definitely not her imagination when she hears the betrayal in his voice.

‘Does she know you’re there?’

There’s a moment of silence before Reid speaks, and when he does, it’s almost as though he’s answering an entirely different question that the one that had been asked.

‘She taught me how to do this.’ His voice is soft, a little bit sad.

‘Get on with it,’ snaps Riley, and Austin shoots him a look of annoyance. She leans in over Reid, putting a hand on his shoulder. On the screen, she sees his college transcript, and a few other documents, but the screen isn’t what she needs to be paying attention to right now.

‘I understand you’re upset, Spencer, but if you don’t do this, then you might never find out why you are the way you are.’

There’s a pause. ‘She’s not blocking me out,’ he says eventually.

‘Can you block _her_ out?’ Riley asks, the disdain in his voice evident.

‘No.’

‘Well what the fuck kind of robot _are_ you then?’ he asks. ‘Is your main function to spend all day moping, because I really don’t want to deal with that shit.’

Without further pretence of tolerating Riley’s behavior, Austin grabs her brother by the sleeve and drags him out of the room. ‘What the fuck is wrong with you?’ she seethes. ‘You really think he’s going to help the way you’re acting? He might be a robot, but he’s not a moron. We _need_ him, and he knows that. Don’t fuck this up, okay?’

Riley runs a hand through his hair. ‘I know,’ he sighs. ‘I know, I’m sorry. It’s just...I miss him. And this stupid robot is going around acting like the world’s betrayed him, and I’m thinking, “Shit, kid – you’re not the only one the universe has fucked over.” Get a grip. Do something about it.’

‘We _are_ doing something about it,’ Austin reminds him. ‘It’s win-win – we all find out who made him, we get the blueprints we need, and he solves his existential crisis. That isn’t going to happen if you treat him like a piece of trash off the street. He wants to be human. Make him believe that he is.’

She can’t believe she’d dropped out of college for this. It’s been two years since their youngest brother, Dmitri, had been killed by a hereditary heart condition passed down by their father. They’d been lucky, in a way – the only thing they’ve gotten from their father is a childhood of bad memories. Part of her wonders that maybe Dmitri had been better off. Long after his death, their father still haunts them.

Leaving Riley to regain his composition, she returns to Spencer. He’s typing away furiously, but she can still see the hurt in his eyes. He’s so real...so _lifelike._ ‘I’m sorry,’ she says. ‘He gets...angry.’ What she doesn’t tell Spencer – doesn’t tell Riley – is that he reminds her of their father sometimes, which is why she’s eager to leave once this is finished.

Mother would be upset, but then, mother won’t be around for much longer.

‘I got as much as I could,’ Reid says eventually. ‘But if I stayed in the system any longer, then she would have been able to track me.’

Austin’s a little surprised at the admission. The betrayal must run much deeper than she’d imagined. She’s intrigued.

‘You hungry?’ she asks him, and he gives a nod. ‘I’ll order Chinese – you like Chinese?’

‘Sure,’ he says. ‘At least, I think I’m supposed to.’

He gives a bitter smile at the joke, but he seems a little more used to the situation than he had been.

She puts the order through, and an hour later, they’re sitting on the sofa, watching bad TV and eating Chinese food. It feels strangely normal. Riley’s since composed himself, but he’s sitting at the computer now, searching through the files that Spencer had managed to pull from the database.

‘I’ve seen this one,’ Spencer says offhandedly, but makes no indication that he wants the channel changed because of it.

‘Me too,’ Austin admits. It’s a ridiculous story about an alien falling in love with a bicycle, but it falls past cheesy into pretty funny, so she doesn’t mind so much. 100% pure daytime television.

‘It’s based on a true story,’ Spencer provides, his voice taking on a sudden enthusiastic tone. ‘Albeit very much altered. History tells us that the meteorite that caused the Fall brought a limited number of aliens to Earth as well. Only one of them survived, and he attempted to court a horse from a nearby village. It didn’t really sit well with focus groups, so it was pretty much completely changed.’

Austin almost chokes on a piece of Sweet and Sour Pork. She’s never heard that one before, and she’s having a little trouble trying to breathe and laugh at the same time.

She likes Spencer, she realizes, once she’s made sure that she’s still alive. He’s funny, and intelligent, and sweet, and if she hadn’t known about what’s underneath his skin, she really, _really_ never would have guessed it.

She’s not really sure it matters.


	11. Chapter 11

‘We’re looking for a vigilante,’ says Rossi, by way of starting the profile. It’s just Emily and him standing in front of the whiteboard. It feels different. Technically speaking, this is only her second case, so she’s not entirely sure how it’s _supposed_ to feel. ‘This person is mostly likely young for their species – due to the variety of groups being attacked, we have no way of determining species, though the use of non-magical techniques suggest that it’s not a witch. Whoever did this has enough knowledge of forensics to cover their tracks.’

‘This person probably has some history with a terrorist group,’ Emily continues. ‘A family member killed by an attack, or something similar.’

‘You don’t think it’s a reformed terrorist?’ Jordan questions.

Emily shakes her head. ‘No. This is more personal than that. This person doesn’t just want to send a message. They want revenge.’ She gestures towards the mutilated corpses of their victims.

A soft ringing startles Emily. Her phone vibrates in her pocket.

‘Excuse me.’ She leaves Rossi to finish the profile, and pulls the phone out. She frowns. Caller I.D reads “Unknown Number.” She’d been hoping for Garcia, or at the very least Morgan, to tell her that they’d found Reid and everything’s looking fantastic, and they’ll go out for ice-cream later. She’s not going to get that call though. Ever.

‘Hello?’ she answers, the word slow and filled with caution. The person on the other end of the line barely has a chance to say anything before she slams the phone shut.

_Fuck._

_Why now?_

She walks back towards the group, trying to pretend that nothing had happened. Her face betrays her though, and David Rossi sure as hell isn’t going to miss it, even if the members of the Counter-Terrorism Division might. To his credit, though, he says nothing, continuing with their preliminary profile.

‘We should search databases for survivors of terrorist attacks, and family members of those who’ve died in terrorist attacks. Stick with homeland terrorism for now, and start with humans before branching out to shapeshifters and vampires.’

Several members of the group look towards Jordan. ‘You heard him,’ she says, the exasperation clear in her voice. ‘We need to narrow this down, guys.’

The agents scatter, leaving Emily and Rossi alone with Jordan Todd.

‘I’d like to see the crime scenes, if possible,’ says Rossi.

‘The first two have been cleaned already, but I can take you to the third.’

‘I’d like to see all of them,’ he says. ‘There still could be residue that might have been missed.’

‘We’re not amateurs, Agent Rossi.’ Jordan narrows her eyes, and Emily notices the woman’s hand clenching and unclenching.

‘I wasn’t suggesting that,’ he replies. ‘I’d just like to be thorough.’

Finally, Jordan nods. ‘Of course. I’ll take you to the scenes myself.’ She heads to her office first, while Emily and Rossi make their way down to the parking garage. It’s not until there’s no-one else within hearing range (supernatural or other) that he says, ‘So what was that?’

‘Huh?’ Emily asks. ‘Oh, you mean the phone call? It was nothing.’

His eyebrow raises and she sighs. ‘It was my mother.’

‘You think there’s going to be a problem?’

She shakes her head, saying, ‘I don’t know. My mother isn’t exactly the most predictable person. I think we should probably be watching our backs, all the same.’

They drive to the crime scene – it’s fairly shady, according to Jordan, so even though it’s still light out, Emily can go outside without horrifically detrimental side-effects. At most, she’ll need a little extra blood today, signed off by the DHHS as a medical necessity. By her count, it’d be the third time in the last week that she’s needed it.

That’s the BAU for you, apparently. According to the files that she’d read before her transfer, it’s the most frequently hospitalized unit in the entire Bureau. They have ward named after them at the local hospital. It’s terrifying and exhilarating at the same time.

She sticks to the shade as they exit the SUV, and before they’ve even gone twenty feet, the smell of death hits her nostrils.

It’s been twelve hours since the body had been dumped. The smell is going to stick around for much, much longer – for those who can sense it, at least. Really, Morgan would be the right person to sniff this out, but he’s busy doing something much more important. That’s not to say that she doesn’t care that people are dying, it’s just that on some level, part of her thinks that a missing colleague is of more importance than searching for a vigilante.

When you’ve seen into the deepest, darkest depths of evil, sometimes all you really want to do is punch it in the face.

‘Do you sense that?’ Rossi asks, frowning. ‘There’s magical energy here.’

Emily shakes her head slightly, but then, she’s not a witch.

‘I feel it,’ Jordan says. ‘It’s strong, but...not strong. As though someone’s trying to hide something.’

Emily catches something out of the corner of her eye, and her heart skips a beat. ‘Do you think that it’s...entirely possible that one of our terrorist groups is staking out the crime scene in case someone comes back?’ She speaks slowly, her hand subtly drifting to her sidearm. Rossi notices her behavior, apparently, because he’s slowly shifting into an offensive position. Jordan’s hands clench and unclench once more, and when they turn, it’s almost like groupthink.

There’s a flash of blue light, and everything turns to chaos.


	12. Chapter 12

Staff moved into an offensive position, David Rossi darts his eyes in a one hundred and eighty degree arc. There are six of them, all sorcerers of some variety, and their power levels are not to be scoffed at.

Jordan’s fingers are surging with electricity, light jumping from one finger to the next. She gives him a glance, waiting, it seems, for the go-ahead. Emily has her side-arm out, but there’s a look on her face that suggests she doesn’t think it will do a lick of good, and she’s probably right. If they’re dealing with power levels like this, then bullets will bounce right off the shields that are in place.

‘You don’t happen to have a sword on you?’ she mutters, and he’s amused to note that it’s annoyance in her voice, rather than fear. As though this is just another day in the life. And really, it is – for all three of them. Reid had informed him of a statistical analysis once, that had determined that being a part of the Federal Bureau of Investigation was one of the ten most dangerous jobs in the world. The death rate was pretty high, and considering the types of people (and creatures) they usually deal with, it’s not surprising in the least.

Still, that doesn’t mean that their present predicament is to be taken lightly.

He taps a rune that’s carved near the top of his staff, infusing it with some of his life energy. Nothing appears to happen, but then, that’s the point. He’s just called for back-up, and depending on where the closest team is, it could take anywhere from thirty seconds to five minutes. Teleportation technology is still a little iffy.

Another burst of light comes from their assailants, and this time, he sees it for what it is – an intimidation tactic. Whoever these people are (And he knows they’re definitely not very nice people) they’re not looking to kill.

Of course, that isn’t always good news.

It’s hard to torture a corpse. And necromancy isn’t an exact art.

If he had to guess, he’d say that these people are from one of the “extremist” groups, and that they would _really_ like to know who is responsible for a member’s death.

He gives a nod in return to both Jordan and Emily, and lets a little more energy flow into the staff. These sorcerers might be powerful, but the FBI does not take amateurs. Aiming the staff in the direction of the trees, he sends a burst of green light in their direction. Of course, it’s not just green light – it’s Green Flame.

The light passes through the trees without inflicting any damage upon them, but then, it’s not designed to touch plant-life. He’s an offensive caster, not a botanist. He watches as both the Green Flame, and the bullets that Emily’s firing bounce right off their shields, and he swears. More powerful than he’d thought.

He sees it now – three of them at the back, three at the front. Three offensive, three defensive. The defensive are holding up the shields while the offensives attack. As unwise at it sounds, they need to split up. Assuming the sorcerers split equally, he can handle a single defensive shield no problem. It’ll also throw them off.

This is going to be interesting.

*          *          *

She drops the gun, just as Rossi gives the order to scatter. It’s clear that the bullets aren’t doing anything, and anyway, she’s always preferred hand-to-hand combat.

She runs through the trees for long enough to confirm that there are at least two of them following her. She manages to dodge the bursts of energy – vampire reflexes are good for some things.

She slows slightly – an illusion of allowing them to catch up. When they’re less than twenty feet behind her, she executes a rapid kick off the nearest tree, and then dives towards them. When dealing with witches and wizards, she’s found that close combat is the best offence as well as the best defense – this close, it’s difficult to set off any spells that won’t affect themselves as well.

She tackles the first wizard to the ground, noting the look of surprise on his face. She’s not as strong as most vampires, but she can hold her own, and she can definitely pack a better punch than a wizard.

Sensing the second one coming up behind her, she pushes herself off the ground, narrowly missing the staff that’s swinging for her head. Her feet firmly on the ground once more, she tries to grab for the staff, noticing too late the bead of white light that’s starting to form on the tip.

Shit.

Close-combat magic _will_ work, if it’s designed to only hit the person they’re trying to take out. She’s pretty sure neither of the wizards she’s fighting have a vulnerability to sunlight.

She pulls at the staff, trying to break the connection, but it’s too late. The bead is spreading into a flash, and already she can feel the burning pain against her skin. It’s not enough to reduce her to ashes, but it’s definitely enough to incapacitate.

The light overwhelms her, and she feels the pit of her stomach slowly rising, bile forming. Her strength fades, and she manages to utter a single word before losing herself to unconsciousness:

‘_Fuck_.’


	13. Chapter 13

They’re standing in a semi-circle around Garcia’s computer, their faces an expression of shock, and, JJ realizes, taking a closer look at Hotch and Morgan, hurt. The young profiler has been like a younger brother to all of them – even though it had been strange at first, she’s never really thought of him as anything but human. He laughs, he cries. He feels anger, he feels pain.

To know that he’s working against them now – that their betrayal had led him to this – it’s hard to accept.

She doesn’t know if there’s any going back. They’d lied to Spencer Reid, and now they’re paying the price.

‘Did you find out where he is?’ Hotch asks sharply, but there’s an undercurrent of sadness to his voice. She wants to tell him that he did the right thing, but it really isn’t the time, or the place.

‘I narrowed it down, but it’s still a twenty mile radius,’ she answers. ‘What would his captors want from his personnel file?’

‘The same thing he wants,’ says Morgan. ‘Answers.’

Hotch opens his mouth to speak, but Morgan hasn’t quite finished yet. ‘It makes sense – that is the _one_ thing that sets Spencer Reid apart, and it’s the one thing that would make him turn on us. He needs to know the truth.’

Morgan’s not ready to give up on him yet, apparently. She’s not surprised – he is, by his own admission, relentless. He will walk to the ends of the Earth to bring Spencer Reid back, and then even further to try and make things right. It’s an unlikely friendship, but it’s – it _had_ been – a strong one nonetheless.

She feels a twinge at her forehead, and dismisses it. It’s been a tough week – even by BAU standards. She thinks that after they’ve found Reid, she’ll go home and sleep for a week, call-ins be damned.

The pain starts to ripple and it’s the kind of pain she usually associates with picking up particularly strong mental activity from another person, only it’s multiplied by tenfold. She puts a hand to her head, and can’t stop the moan that escapes her lift. It burns, as though someone has decided to stab a needle into the pin of her voodoo doll. That had happened once, the pain coming to an end only after Hotch had shot the Vodoun Priest in a splatter of crimson. She doesn’t think that bullets are going to help now.

‘JJ?’ Hotch asks, concern creasing across his brow. She can barely hear him – it’s as though his words are coming through some kind of barrier. The pain ripples again, sending a wave of fire through her frontal lobe, and this time, the noise she lets out is louder.

She falls to the ground, and everything goes dark.

_And then…_

_And then it’s not dark._

_But it’s not light, either._

_It’s…grey. As though she’s not really using all of her senses. The color comes slowly – she sees green first. Lots of green. Bright flashes of green – dark and light. Trees. Grass._

_Where is she?_

_Is this a dream?_

_It doesn’t feel like a dream, but then, it rarely ever does. It feels like she’s reaching inside someone’s mind. Watching their thoughts. But this is far more advanced than she’s capable of._

_There’s a flash of blue next, and she finds herself calling out, _‘Rossi!’ _even though she’s not really sure why. The experience is familiar – knowing without ever really seeing. Seeing is the next phase in telepathy. A transcendence._

_She does see Rossi then – he’s lying on the ground. On the grass. Dead?_

_No._

_Unconscious._

_He’s bleeding from a head wound, and there are half a dozen people surrounding him. She doesn’t know who these people are. She’s never seen them in her life. They’re wearing dark red robes, which isn’t altogether uncommon. At the same time though, she feels the malevolence that emanates from them. Their motives are not noble._

_She fears for her friend’s life._

_Only…he’s not alone. Emily had been with him. And Jordan._

_She’s not sure who Jordan is; the name has been supplied to her, and she isn’t entirely sure how. All she knows is that the next two flashes come in quick succession. Two limp, lifeless bodies. One of them is Emily, and the other one has dark hair, olive colored skin. Jordan?_

Yes, _her mind tells her. She doesn’t argue._

_Her friends are in trouble._

_They need help._

_They need…_water?

Why do they need water?

Her body jerks upwards, and she’s vaguely aware of the fact that she’s spluttering, and that she’s soaked from the shoulders up. The air conditioning hits her skin with an icy chill.

‘Are you okay?’ Hotch asks, his hand on her shoulder. He’s radiating with concern, and something else. Something that she’s not sure she can deal with right now. Love.

‘Yeah, I’m…’ she says, her words interrupted by a coughing fit that seems to last for ten minutes.

‘Sorry,’ says Morgan apologetically, and it’s as though she’s noticing his presence for the first time. ‘_Someone_ decided that the best course of action would be to tip a bucket of water over your head.’ He shoots Kevin an ugly glance, and she vaguely wonders just how the fairy had managed to lug an entire bucket of water by himself.

‘I’m fine,’ she says, trying to pull herself upwards. She closes her eyes against the pain.

Green. Trees. Grass. Blue. Rossi.

‘Rossi’s in trouble,’ she blurts out, and apparently, out of all the things she could have said, that’s not what Hotch had been expecting.

‘I had a vision,’ she clarifies. ‘One of the groups they’re going after – they were ambushed.’

‘They?’ asks Morgan, and for a split second, she sees unadulterated fear in his eyes.

‘Rossi, Emily. Jordan.’

Nobody asks who Jordan is, and she’s not entirely sure that she can explain. Any extraneous knowledge she had felt in that grey void seems to have slipped away.

‘You had a vision?’ Hotch asks, and the fear that’s in _his_ eyes isn’t just for Rossi and Emily. She gets that – if she’s getting more powerful, then it’s really not particularly good news, because the powerful telepaths are the first ones to go insane – but it is _really_, really not important right now.

‘Please, Hotch…’ she says, and that’s apparently all she needs to say, because he nods.

‘Garcia?’

She stands up, aware of Hotch’s attempts at trying to help. She’s grateful, but at the same time, she doesn’t want to seem weak. The last thing she wants is for him to tell her to go home and take some rest. They’re down three agents in two separate circumstances, and it’s going to take some kind of Leprechaun miracle to get through this unscathed. Hell, it’ll take a Leprechaun miracle just to get everyone out alive, and nobody knows anything about where the Leprechauns are right now.

‘Rossi’s staff sent out a back-up pulse,’ Garcia announces. ‘Two minutes ago.’ There’s a buzz and a blur of white, and the fairy zips around to land on JJ’s shoulder. ‘What now?’


	14. Chapter 14

Reid watches with some apprehension as the door clicks shut. Riley’s gone to do some grocery shopping apparently, and quite frankly, Reid will be glad to be free, even if it’s just for a little while.

‘Thank God,’ says Austin with a smile. ‘He’s my brother sure, but he’s a real pain in the ass.’

‘So why are you helping him?’ Reid asks her, genuinely curious. The issue of family seems to be a sore spot for her, so he wonders why she’s doing this.

She seems reluctant to answer, whether because she’s not sure he’ll like the answer, or because she doesn’t know what answer to give, he can’t be certain. It’s almost a minute later when she says, ‘My mother’s dying.’

‘I’m sorry,’ he says awkwardly, in lieu of anything else to say. Normally, he stays social by injecting a plethora of data into the conversation, but it doesn’t work so well with a topic so emotionally raw as this one.

‘Don’t be,’ Austin shakes her head. ‘She’s a fucking bitch. And my brother – ever the perfect son…’ She shakes her head with some derision. ‘Wants to do one last thing for her before she dies…As if it even matters.’

She doesn’t elaborate, and Reid doesn’t push the matter, knowing that if he does, she could well close up entirely. He can’t learn every facet of her personality in a single day. She gives a nervous laugh, and then changes the subject entirely.

‘We should start going through those files,’ she says. She gets a strange look in her eyes. ‘Actually – there’s something you might want to take a look at.’

She goes over to the pile of papers sitting on the kitchen counter and shuffles through them until she finds the one she’s looking for. Aside from one symbol, it’s blank.

 

‘We, ah…’ She hesitates again. ‘We found this engraved on your left ankle joint,’ she says. ‘There might be something about it in the files, but I thought maybe you might know…’

He lets his fingers brush across the image. ‘_Jai’don_,’ he whispers.

Austin frowns. ‘What language is that?’

‘_Menjai’don_,’ he tells her. ‘“Tongue of the tree that falls.”’

‘And that’s…’ she gestures at the image.

‘The tree that falls,’ he nods. ‘It’s a symbols used to signify the act of creation. Have you…how familiar are you with the legends behind the Fall of Man?’

‘Not very,’ she shrugs, ‘Elementary school history, but that was ages ago.’

‘The books tell us of a time of war, when several kingdoms were engaged in a bloody feud. In the heat of this war, “The sky grows dark, and then is overcome with the blinding light of a falling star. The flaming chariot falls to the ground, making a deep hole within the ground. The rock from the skies brings with it life – the minions of the creators – and a seed. The seed grows, becoming the grandest of trees in just a single day,”’he quotes. ‘The leaders of the countries at war independently decide to go to the tree, because anything as powerful to create life in the midst of darkness could be used to help them win the war.’

‘This was the meteorite?’ Austin asks, and Reid nods, not stopping to continue.

‘“The Queen Lilith steps towards the tree, and asks of it the power to defeat her foes. She is granted this, and it is both a blessing and a curse, for the power must be drained from another, and for many years she can no longer walk under the sun. In this, she is the first vampire.

The King Amon steps towards the tree, and asks of it the power to defeat his foes. He is granted this, and it is a blessing and a curse, for the power is taken from the earth, and as penance, he is forever bound to it, and one night out of every month, he must pay worship to the earth’s kindred, the moon. In this, he is the first shapeshifter.

The King Gwydion steps towards the tree, and asks of it the power to defeat his foes. He is granted this, and it is both a blessing and a curse, for the power is ripped from within him, and it leaves him weak, at the mercy of his enemies. In this, he is the first sorcerer.

The King Adam steps towards the tree, and asks of it the continued survival of his people. He is granted this, and it is both a blessing and a curse, for his people live on as lesser beings, live on in shadow. In this, he is, and remains, human.”’

‘That part’s always confused me,’ Austin confesses. ‘I mean, asking a _tree _for power?’

‘It’s allegorical mostly,’ Reid shrugs. ‘The legend goes that the Fallen are forbidden from speaking of their metamorphosis – if they do, the power is ripped from them, and they will wither away and die.’

‘How many of them are left?’ Austin asks. ‘They can’t all still be alive, can they?’

‘Some of them are,’ Reid says, blanching slightly at his most recent experience with one of the Fallen. ‘There are more than four, of course. The books only speak of those that went to the tree first. They’re notoriously difficult to kill.’

‘And what does this have to do with you?’ She looks down at the symbol, confusion creasing her brow.

He bites his lip, thinking. ‘The symbol – _jai’don­ ­_is often used as a word for _creator_, in that the tree is responsible for seeding new life, as it were. Whoever did this...whoever made me...I think he’s boasting.’

‘Boasting?’

‘Indeed – in his – or her – own way, he’s making people aware of the fact that he’s created a being that’s almost...human.’

He flinches slightly as she puts a hand on his shoulder. In comfort, he realizes, and is initially not quite sure what to make of it. His entire life, he had been somewhat antisocial, but whether those are real memories or memories that had been implanted in him, he’s not sure. He’s not even sure what real is anymore. The emotion he feels _seems_ real – the anger, the fear, the sadness – but at the same time, he knows that it’s nothing more than software and electrical signals. Though, arguably, the same could be said for humans – the personality as software, neurons as electrical signals.

The classic mind-body problem. Can he have a soul, a mind, without being human? Can he be _human_ without being human?

For what feels like the first time in his life, Spencer Reid has absolutely no idea what to think.


	15. Chapter 15

The first thing Emily feels when she wakes up is a strong, burning pain at her wrists. She opens her eyes, but her field of vision is blurry. Her mind isn’t exactly in the right mood to put two and two together, so she tries to lift her hands to rub at her eyes, which only results in the burning pain becoming a whole lot more painful. Unconsciously, she lets out a soft moan.

The effects of sunlight are still lingering, but she manages to stop herself from dry retching while the room slowly becomes clearer. It’s a cell, which is unsurprising, because no self-respecting evil organization goes without these days. It’s just a pain in the ass that she always seems to end up inside of them.

Not alone though.

She’s suddenly aware of the hand that’s on her back, the soft voice that’s easing her out of oblivion. ‘It’s okay,’ the voice tells her, and she lets her consciousness crawl towards it, even though she’s not quite ready to accept the message that it’s preaching.

She sits up, pushing back against the hand, and making sure not to move her wrists any more than she needs to.

The hand, unsurprisingly, belongs to David Rossi, who somehow manages to look caring and completely pissed at the same time. In any other circumstances, the expression might have been amusing.

‘We really need to stop meeting like this,’ she mutters, and the joke doesn’t really make any sense, but he gives a low chuckle anyway. The sound of a second voice alerts her to the fact that they’re not the only ones in the cell. Agent Todd, of CTD is there as well, and her expression almost mirrors Rossi’s, except with a little more pissed, a little less caring. That’s not to say she doesn’t care, though. Like them, she evidently seems to hate it when the bad guys one-up them.

They’re both unbound though, which causes Emily to raise an eyebrow at her own restraints situation. They aren’t normal cuffs – the burning pain tells her that before she even looks at them. The source of the pain is the tiny crosses that are etched into the metal of the cuffs. Not quite a power dampener, but effective enough.

‘Anath’s Circle,’ Jordan says, a little bitterly. ‘They’re, ah…something of a purist group. They don’t like…outsiders.’

The term “outsiders” is somewhat forgiving, meaning, in this situation, “anyone that isn’t a sorcerer,” and right now, as much as it sucks to think about it, she’s the only one that fits that description. She’s unsure whether or not that means she’s about to become some kind of ritual sacrifice, or whether it just means she’s useless to them. Somehow, though, she doubts that they’ll be inclined to just let her go.

They have a reputation to uphold after all.

‘So…’ Emily starts, letting her head loll back against the brick wall behind her. ‘Are we assuming that they took us to get information about who killed their people?’

‘I’d say so,’ agrees Rossi, ‘Which is unfortunate, because we really don’t know anything.’

‘Well that’s great,’ says Emily sardonically. ‘I guess we just wait for them to come and kill us then. It’s not as if they’ll _torture_ us for information or anything.’ There’s a slight pause. ‘Sorry.’ The apology sounds weak, even to her own ears. ‘I lose inhibition when I’m in pain. Also makes me horny…crap.’ She can’t help but choke out a laugh at her faux pas. This situation seems different to the last time she’d been trapped in a cell, not three days prior. Then, she’d been brutal, almost animalistic, thanks to Morgan’s blood. Now she just feels languid.

Morgan.

She almost wishes he were here now, just so he could share his strength once more. As it stands, she doesn’t know if she’s ever going to see him again. Over the past few years, her “close scrapes” have drawn ever closer to real, actual death. Two months ago she would have welcomed that.

Now.

The Behavioral Analysis Unit seems to be some kind of siren call for the freaks and geeks of the world. She almost sort of thinks that she might have a chance of really, truly fitting in there one day, even if it hasn’t quite happened yet. They may give an appearance of trust, of welcoming, but they don’t really trust or welcome her yet. Especially not after her mother had tried to kill them all.

Real party pooper.

_But then_, she reasons to herself, _At least you won’t have to deal with mother on the other side, _and she feels pathetic for thinking about letting death come, just to escape her family.

Still, death at the hands of an extremist organization hadn’t exactly been what she’d had in mind. Especially considering the fact that they probably will be tortured information, if for no reason other than thoroughness.

As if on cue, she hears the slow approach of footsteps from down the hall. It’s almost a minute later that the sounds become audible to Rossi and Jordan, and they both perk up, the fear they can’t hide definitely not the most comforting look.

The man is tall, wearing dark red robes, the motif on the edge of the collar marking him as one of Anath’s Circle, which they already know. He holds himself in such a way that it’s obvious he’s a high-ranking member, which means that this is definitely much, much bigger than they had imagined. He isn’t carrying a staff, which means that either he doesn’t intend to use magic, or he’s so powerful he doesn’t _need_ a staff. Emily has her money placed firmly on the latter option.

His eyes cast over them each in turn, not even bothering to hide the scorn. At the same time though, his look is curious.

‘An heir of the Fallen,’ he says to Emily. ‘One of the Order’s hounds…’ to Rossi. ‘And a witch that barely even deserves the name.’ Jordan grimaces at the insult, clenching her fists in an attempt to dredge up whatever power she can. It’s a fruitless pursuit, Emily can see. The robed man is the strongest person in the room, and they all know it.

He steps towards Emily, and she feels her breath catching in her throat. A single finger slides along her cheek, and she feels almost dirty. He closes his fist, and the tightness in her chest feels less like stress, and more like somebody’s trying to squeeze her lungs from the inside. She bucks against the cuffs, the burning rippling across her torso. She’s gasping for breath when he steps away, and she’s clinging to the edges of consciousness, awake enough to hear, ‘We are not so unwise as to risk spilling the blood of the Fallen. It has other, more powerful uses.’

She takes the statement to mean that he isn’t going to kill her – yet. She’s kind of grateful for that, but at the same time, she knows that it definitely isn’t good news for Rossi or Jordan. He seems to step past Rossi, but it’s not in ignorance. Jordan is the weaker sorcerer. Easier to break. More likely to convince Rossi to spill.

‘Who killed them?’ he asks, and before anybody even has time to answer, Jordan’s screaming, her body writhing in a bath of white light.

‘We don’t know!’ Rossi yells, angry. ‘We don’t know who killed them. We only just started the investigation.’

The man laughs, and it’s a cold, echoing laugh. Emily feels herself shivering slightly, though that could be entirely unrelated. ‘You know a lot more than you think you do.’ He pulls his hand away from Jordan, and she immediately collapses to the floor, her eyes closed. _Still alive_, Emily thinks, hearing the heartbeat of the other woman. _But not for long._

His hand waves, the light it emits creating an image. A face. It’s not one that Emily recognizes, but then, it’s not for her benefit. It’s for Rossi’s.

She sees the shock in his eyes long before he says anything, and it’s enough to tell her that whoever the person is, things are about to get really, really bad.


	16. Chapter 16

David Rossi inwardly grimaces.

Outwardly, he tries to look puzzled, and it’s a look that the man in the red robes isn’t buying. He looks almost familiar, though Rossi can’t quite place it, and now, he’s not even trying to. He’s much more focused on the shimmering face that’s hanging in the air, evidently a composite from their victim’s Last Sight.

Elle Greenaway.

She looks a lot older, a lot wilder, and not particularly healthy, but there’s no mistaking that face. He remembers the look in her eyes when she’d realized she was about to die.

But no.

Not dead.

Obliteration spells are impossible to reverse; no resurrection is possible, not even a half-assed one that results in ghouls, or zombies. Either this is a clone, or something had gone down that day that not even the BAU had been aware of.

And now Elle Greenaway is back, killing members of extremist groups. It doesn’t make a single bit of sense. She might have been somewhat aggressive, but she hadn’t been a killer. But then, supposed death can change a person.

In any case, this isn’t something he wants to leave in the hands of an organization reputed for ruthless killings.

‘I don’t know who that is,’ he says evenly, and granted, he’s not the best of liars. All three of his marriages had gone down in a blaze of fire, thanks to his tendency to be blunter than a poached unicorn’s horn. In the case of his second wife, it literally _had _gone down in a blaze of fire, after he assured her that, yes, she was a selfish harpy bitch, and more to the point, she screamed like a banshee. Of course, that part may have been due to the fact that she had been a quarter banshee on her mother’s side. Good for sex. Not so good for long term relationships.

Still.

He likes to think that he can lie when it counts. In interrogations, or when trying to talk down a suspect. Usually, though, their suspects aren’t as powerful as this. He’s no slouch at the art himself, but even with the after-effects of the attack, he can feel the energy in the room pulsating, threatening to explode.

It also means that if he decides to keep torturing them, Jordan Todd doesn’t stand a snowball’s chance in the fifth circle of hell, and David Rossi has _seen _the fifth circle of hell. It’s not a nice place. Especially not for the living.

He considers, just briefly, giving him a false name. Something that buys them a little time. The thought is dismissed within seconds. That level of magical ability is usually accompanied by some level of telepathy. He’s been straining his head trying to keep his shields up since he’d entered the room.

It’s not long before he comes to the painful realization that the best course of action is to tell the truth. As far as everyone in the world is aware, Elle Greenaway is dead, which means she must be going by an alternate name, or maybe even no name at all. Her appearance doesn’t lend itself to prosperity.

‘Elle Greenaway,’ he says, with some regret in his voice. The answer is met with a nod – it’s the truth, and they both know it. Still, no more questions are asked – no “where is she?” or “how do you know her?” and Rossi assumes that they have their own sources for gathering such information.

Emily gives him a wide-eyed look, both at the identity of the killer, and at the fact that he had revealed the name so readily. Jordan’s unconscious, for which he’s kind of glad. For one thing, it means she’s not in pain, but it also means that she won’t be able to tell anyone of the events. He’s kind of fond of his reputation as an arrogant but loveable jackass. He doesn’t really want it to be upgraded to “backstabber.”

That is, of course, if they make it out alive. The red-robed man again looks at them each in turn, as though he too is deciding whether or not they’re going to live or die. At least if it’s death, Rossi reasons, it’ll be quick. That’s more than could be said for the torture that would have been inflicted upon them.

But no.

No death yet. The man simply walks out, leaving them to the awkward silence.

‘What the fuck was that?’ Emily asks, and she doesn’t sound so much mad as she does surprised.

‘Would you rather be dead?’ he snaps back, with unintentional harshness. She doesn’t say anything to that.

‘What now?’ she asks instead. ‘Five centuries ago, we would have been already sacrificed to the great Lord Gwydion.  An offering of power.’

‘Well.’ He thinks an attempt at levity is the best course of action. ‘They’ll probably drain your blood first, so you’ve probably got a little while at least.’

Her laugh is low – not mirthless, but not really jovial either. ‘They’ve tried.’

‘Yeah?’ he asks, his curiosity piqued.

She gives as much of a shrug as she can without moving her wrists. ‘Not long after I turned my back against the vampires – I went to France in search of my father’s family. Sorcerers.’

‘Sorcerers that didn’t really appreciate a vampire trying to play happy families with them?’

She gives a grim nod. ‘Yeah.’ She continues. ‘That was the original Anath’s Circle. They fell apart after the disappearance of Gwydion. I’d thought that this group was a cheap imitation. Apparently not.’

‘No,’ he agrees. They’ve lost a lot to Anath’s Circle. At least, he’d thought they had.

He hears the sound of footsteps again, the man in the dark red robe returning. He opens the cell door, and doesn’t even look at Rossi. He sees the set of cross-marked cuffs, and his eyes drift across to Emily’s. She has her brows raised in question, and this time it’s his turn to shrug.

There’s a pained silence as one cuff hooks around her left wrist, clicking into place. She grits her teeth at the pain, and again when the first set is removed, freeing her left arm from the wall. It slumps to her side, and he can already see the angry red, cross-shaped welts encircling the skin.

He pulls her hand up by the cuff, locking it to the other wrist, and repeating the procedure. Now, she’s freed from the wall chains, but is still imprisoned nonetheless.

‘We will return,’ the man says with a smirk. ‘With any luck, you should all get out of this alive.’

Now Rossi is _really_ curious. This is definitely not the behavior of Anath’s Circle. They don’t make deals with their enemies. Especially not vampires. Not even vampires with sorcerer blood in them.

With a determined sigh, he pulls himself over to Jordan, letting a hand run across her cheek. There don’t seem to be any horrendous after-effects of the spell. He just has to wait for her to wake up.

By that time though, it could already be too late.


	17. Chapter 17

Hotch hands her a glass of water, and she takes it gratefully, drinking the whole thing in almost a single gulp. She’s always dehydrated after using her telepathy, but this is far worse than it’s ever been. As soon as this is all over, she’s going to schedule an appointment with Professor Pewter to discuss this sudden onset of full-blown visions.

He puts a hand on her shoulder, and she feels the warmth radiating through her. Part of her wouldn’t object if he just held onto her, and she can tell without even reaching out that he wants to do exactly that. It’s not the time, nor the place, though, because now they have two different cases to deal with. ‘How’re you feeling?’

‘My head hurts a little,’ she says, and it’s only partially a lie – her head hurts a _lot_. Psychic magic has the same downsides as regular magic, it seems. If Reid were here, he’d mention something about telepathy being a mutation from the first sorcerers. She misses the matter-of-fact way that he’d recite facts and statistics. To her, it hadn’t been part of his programming – it had been part of his charm.

‘I need to go speak with the CTD Unit Chief,’ he says. ‘If we can get them on the search for Rossi and Prentiss, then we can focus on finding Reid. It’s not ideal, but if we’re spread too thin…’

JJ nods. ‘You’re sure Morgan will go for that?’

Hotch shakes his head. ‘I’m not sure.’

It’s a tricky situation, JJ agrees – Morgan might be sleeping with Emily, but it’s only really physical so far, and he’s known Reid a lot longer.

‘I’ll go talk to him first,’ Hotch says, and moves to go back to Garcia’s lair, but JJ stops him.

‘No, you go to CTD,’ she says, ‘I’ll talk to Morgan.’ She admits, she has ulterior motives – she wants to see what kind of energy Morgan gives off when she talks to him. She’d been feeling woozy after the vision, too distracted to feel anything that might have been emanating from the people in the room at the time. It’s profiling, of a sort, rather than anything really that intrusive. At least, that’s what she tells herself.

She steps inside, and Garcia’s buzzing around even more frantically than usually, which is a sure sign that something’s wrong – the only more obvious sign would be if the fairy had stopped flying altogether. She and Kevin are going through data at a speed that would have marveled her, had she not seen it from Garcia a hundred times before. There’s a reason the FBI likes to use fairies for technical analysts. They’re fast, and they’re small enough to actually look inside the computer for hardware problems. That’s not to mention their affinity with machinery.

‘Morgan,’ she says, stopping pointedly in front of him. His face is creased with worry – for Reid, and for Emily and Rossi. She takes a deep breath. ‘Hotch is talking to CTD. They’re going to take over Prentiss and Rossi’s case. We’re going to stick on Reid.’

She feels the mixture of emotions radiating off of him. Fear. Doubt. Anger. In his eyes, she sees a torn man. ‘Did you…The vision – did you see who they were?’

She hesitates at that point. The identity of the ambushers, coupled with the cut-off point of the vision doesn’t bode well for Emily and Rossi’s fate. Still she doesn’t lie – not when it’s important.

‘It was Anath’s Circle,’ she tells him, and he swears loudly. They’ve already lost one person to the organization; losing two more will send Morgan on some kind of revenge mission, that much she knows.

‘They’re both strong,’ JJ tries to reassure him. ‘They’re not going to go down without a hell of a fight.’

It doesn’t seem to convince him entirely, but then, he doesn’t argue either. Finding Reid is just as important.

‘Okay,’ Garcia says, the warble to her voice telling JJ that the fairy is as torn as Morgan. ‘I’ve been searching through files beyond the FBI databases. And this is the really, really hinky news. This is like…epic scales of hinkiness.’

‘Garcia…’ Morgan starts, the pleading in his voice reverberating across the room.

‘I found a _death certificate_,’ she says. ‘It was deleted, but the trace was still there, so I dug it up.  According to these records, Spencer Reid _died_ at the age of 19.’

‘How did he die?’ Morgan asks, frowning.

‘Car accident,’ Garcia announces. ‘But his organs were donated to medical research. Organs that included his _brain_.’

‘So what,’ says Morgan. ‘Someone copied his memories into a robot body? That’s a pretty extreme way of dealing with death.’

‘I think we need to talk to Spencer Reid’s family,’ says JJ.

*          *          *

He pushes Emily forward, and she falls to her knees, unable to find purchase with her cuffed hands. The cursed bindings burn harder with the increased pressure, and her wrists are limp as she lifts them up.

She’s fairly sure that she’s about to be killed. Only vampire in a house full of sorcerers and all that. She almost dies of surprise when the cuffs fall away with a soft click. Rubbing at her aching wrists, she frowns at the use of incidental magic. This sorcerer is far, far more powerful than she’d first thought.

‘More powerful than you _still_ think,’ he says casually.

Psychic sorcerer. Telepathy’s an offshoot of real magic, but it’s rare that any contemporary person should have both these skills. In fact, the only documented cases are…

Oh, no fucking way.

‘You’re one of the Fallen,’ she breathes. _Oh, holy shit, we’re screwed._

‘Not screwed,’ he says. ‘I’m here to make an offer. First, I believe, it might be prudent of me to introduce myself. My name is Gwydion.’ The hand he holds out for her to shake seems more a joke than anything else, and she finds herself far too shell-shocked to take it.

‘Gwydion?’ she repeats. ‘As in _the_ Gwydion? First sorcerer?’ _Oh fuck._

Dealing with her own mother is bad enough, but _two_ Fallen? All they need as Amon and Adam, and it’ll be a real party.

‘Adam is human,’ he says casually. ‘He died, as humans always seem to do. Amon…I don’t know where Amon is. But yes, it is of Lilith that I wish to speak. Her presence in this world is…disruptive.’

‘So what,’ Emily asks him caustically. ‘You’ll let us all go on the condition that I go stake my mother in the heart?’

‘Yes,’ he says, and she feels her heart drop so low it’s at risk of falling out. ‘That’s exactly what I had in mind.’


	18. Chapter 18

‘You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,’ Emily says, shocked – as though she hadn’t been talking to someone that could kill her with a flick of his fingers.

‘I assure you, I am not joking,’ Gwydion replies, his calmness as unnerving as his request. ‘I wish for Elizabeth – for _Lilith _– to be killed, and I wish for you to carry out that deed.’

Emily snorts. ‘What, you can’t kill her yourself?’

Silence reigns for a good ten seconds and she realizes the horrible truth.

No.

He can’t kill her. Instead of saying so outright though, he tells her, ‘There is a reason that she has managed to stay in power for so long. The strength she possesses is far greater than anyone realizes. I have no doubt that, if left unchecked, this power will consume the world.’

Emily raises an eyebrow. _Melodramatic, much?_

‘This is not melodrama, Agent Prentiss – you more than anyone are aware of the extent of her will. That is why you are the only one that can kill her.’

‘With all due respect,’ retorts Emily, with no actual respect at all. ‘She could kill me just as easily as you could. Without even blinking.’

‘She could, yes. But would she? Tell me, what happened the last time your paths crossed?’

A memory flashes through her mind. The team, the fight, the dungeon. Morgan.

Blood dripping from his torso. The mere thought of it sends a wave of arousal through her body, a warm feeling reawakening in the pit of her stomach. Her fangs lengthen the slightest touch, and her heart beats faster.

She had assumed that her mother had set her on Morgan to make a point. That she can never really be who she wants to be. It’s more than that, though. It’d been about breaking through the restraints. About the blood-lust. The cravings. About bringing her home.

‘You see?’ Gwydion says. ‘She’s torn. She loves you – you’re her blood, and blood is worth everything to a vampire, especially one as strong as her. You broke her heart when you ran, and she wants nothing more than to welcome you back into her arms. But just because she loves you, doesn’t mean she has the same attitude towards everyone else. She will kill your friends when she has the chance. You know this. You can stop it.’

He has a point, Emily thinks, but then, killing her mother would not be without its consequences. If the political uproar from their last case had been bad, it’s going to be a hundred times worse if there’s a power vacuum. Lesser vamps will struggle for dominion, as well as the sorcerers and shapeshifters. The humans probably don’t stand a chance.

Evidently, that’s what Gwydion wants.

To be in control.

‘Do you think so poorly of me?’ he asks. ‘Would my reign be any more horrific than that of the vampires?’

She thinks of the human sacrifices, of the inter-species hatred and decides that yes, it probably would be just as horrific. Even more so, considering that a sorcerer’s power is far, far less subtle than a vampire’s.

Which brings her to another point.

‘I already get that I shouldn’t trust you. But why should you trust _me_? These fangs aren’t just for decoration.’

‘You’d prefer they were, though, wouldn’t you?’ he says, and she can’t exactly deny that point. ‘You’d prefer that you didn’t have your mother’s blood inside of you. You’d prefer that you were weak. Mortal. Human. But at the same time, you’re grateful for the fact that you’re not like them, even though sometimes you think it might be easier. Your father’s blood…that’s what defines you. Makes you useful.’

‘So that’s it, huh?’ She shakes her head in disbelief, even though really, it’s not so hard for her to judge Gwydion as a complete asshole. ‘I’m an anathema until you decide you need me, and then suddenly it’s all “hey, welcome to the club, make yourself at home”? That’s bullshit. And for the record, I would prefer to die, rather than do your dirty work.’

He laughs, thoroughly amused by her attempt at rebellion. The whole “fuck you” method had worked once upon a time, but apparently not on this wizard.

‘_You_ might be willing to die,’ he says. ‘But I know for a fact that you’d do anything to make sure your friends stay alive.’

He’s using the word “friends” on purpose, she knows, even though she’s not really sure she can call them that yet. Colleagues, yes. Friends? Maybe one day. Right now, though, they’re the closest thing she has to a meaningful relationship, and Gwydion knows it. If she says no, then Rossi and Jordan will die. Apparently the rest of the team will follow.

‘I’ll make sure they know,’ he smiles. ‘I’ll make sure they know how you refused to put their lives over the life of your mother. How you _betrayed_ them. And then I’ll make you watch as they beg for mercy, and you will die knowing that _you_ are responsible for their deaths.’

Her fingers clench a little tighter with each word that he speaks. He’s pushing her buttons, and it’s damn well working. And she admits, part of her relishes the thought of pushing that stake through her mother’s heart, watching the look of horror as the bitch’s body disintegrates into ashes and dust.

‘Fine,’ she says eventually, even though  she’s really, really not sure about what she’s doing. ‘I kill my mother, and you let them go?’

‘As though they were never even here,’ he smiles. He’s moving then, and even though her reaction times are pretty good, getting out of the way isn’t an option. His palm presses up against her forehead. ‘Of course,’ he says – and he is seriously cocky, telling her the exact reason why he’s doing the things he’s doing. Narcissist. ‘I can’t have you telling everyone what your plans are. That would ruin it. I think a nice...sleeper assassin fits my needs. But willing victims are so much easier to mind control.’

She feels the burning pain in her forehead, followed by a flash of white light, and then nothingness.


	19. Chapter 19

He prints off as much of the data from his file that he can; it’s easier to see the connections when they’re laid out in front of him. Be able to see what’s truth, what’s lie. He knows that it can’t all be true – some of the memories inside his mind must be implanted, because the robots he’s seen don’t age. He’s not entirely sure about his own physiology, but it doesn’t make sense for someone to grow a robot when there are far more palatable options. Cloning’s not cheap, but it’s far more effective than robotics, and clones aren’t exactly liable to have an identity crisis because they’re bleeding green. In fact, it’s almost impossible to tell the difference between a clone and the original donor, unless you know the signs you’re looking for.

Looking at the files, he sees nothing.

Just what he knows. College, academy, BAU. There’s no “secret robot training facility” or “brought in from the factory today, joints look a little stiff. Will oil later.” On paper, it looks like any normal person’s record, if a little more prestigious. He doubts any normal people have three Ph. Ds. In all honesty, he doubts that _he_ has three Ph. Ds as well.

Why anyone would have _chosen _to make him a robot, he doesn’t know. In addition to that, it confuses him to think that someone would go to the trouble of making him and then simply leave. They always leave. Always betray. The team, his father.

But no.

Now that he thinks about it, the man that had left him at the age of ten hadn’t been his father. The woman in the mental hospital half a country away isn’t his mother. Perhaps that’s why she refuses to see him, tells him that he’s “not her son.”

The thought must be readable on his face, because Austin asks, ‘What’s wrong?’

He shakes his head, not entirely sure. Across the room, Riley looks at him with something approaching contempt.

He shrugs.

‘I was just thinking, my mother...I...Diana Reid – she might know...the reason why,’ he finishes somewhat lamely, not particularly wanting to voice his thoughts any further. It seems ironic, he thinks. If he weren’t such an advanced robot, then he would never be able to feel the depth of emotion, the anger, the betrayal, the doubt. But then, he wouldn’t be here if he were anything other than what he is.

‘Great,’ says Riley caustically. ‘And where do we find your mother?’

‘The Capgras Institution,’ he says, almost apologetically, even though really, he has no sympathy for the man that had _kidnapped_ him from his home. ‘It’s in Argadnel.’

‘Are you fucking serious?’ Riley says, and Reid snaps.

‘Look,’ he says. ‘Don’t get indignant on me – you _took_ me from my home, and I am well within my rights to refuse to help you altogether. Trust me on this one, Riley – you want answers, and you don’t want to hire someone to hack into secure networks, then this is the way to do it.’

‘It’s two thousand miles away,’ Austin says, and it’s not meant to be a rebuttal of his argument. She’s just stating a fact. ‘We can’t fly – the cops’ll be on our asses before we’ve even had a chance to board the plane. If we take turns driving, it shouldn’t take more than a couple of days.’

Riley doesn’t look too pleased at the situation, but then, he hasn’t exactly been pleased about anything much, in the time that Reid’s been here. He understands that there’s more to the situation than he can see, but at the same time he gets the feeling that Riley is a bit of a jerk to the people he _hasn’t_ abducted. He’s a jerk to Austin, too, which tells Reid that neither of them really wants to be here.

It’s intriguing.

The things people will do for family. He thinks of his own family, or at least, the people that he’d thought were his family. He thinks of a good memory; Morgan dragging him to a mixed species club in Bathory with a glittered up Garcia. In spite of his less than smooth sociabilities, he hadn’t hated the night, but now it’s a bitter aftertaste of betrayal. Just like everything else.

He wonders what he’ll do when he sees them next; they’re undoubtedly looking for him, and he’s not really sure what to think about that. It could mean that they care, in spite of his nature, but at the same time, they could just be looking to recover a lost asset.

Part of him thinks that they wouldn’t be so friendly towards him were he just an asset; doubt at his own actions lingers in the back of his mind, just prominent enough that he isn’t quite ready to let go of the argument just yet.


	20. Chapter 20

Rossi’s head jerks up when he hears the footsteps returning. There are two sets, one’s almost hesitant, and the other is much more authoritative, as though the second is guiding the first along.

The first person is Emily – she looks dazed, but uninjured. It’s almost zombie-like, but he’s not feeling any of the magical energy that’s usually associated with the undead. The second person is the wizard who hasn’t even had the decency to reveal his name yet.

‘My name is not important,’ he says, as if reading Rossi’s mind, and he takes the opportunity to strengthen his shields.

Instead of unlocking the cell door and tossing Emily back inside, which is what Rossi expects, the sorcerer steps inside, and reawakens Jordan with a wave of his hand. She’s groaning – whatever spell he’d used to reawaken her (and Rossi can’t recognize it, which kind of terrifies him a little) it hasn’t done anything for the pain.

‘As promised,’ the sorcerer says dramatically, gesturing towards the open cell door. ‘Your freedom.’

Rossi’s hand is on Jordan’s shoulder, but his eyes are on Emily. She hasn’t moved an inch. ‘What did you do to her?’ he asks angrily, because whatever carries enough weight to get them out of this place unscathed is _definitely_ not good news.

‘That’s between me and her,’ is the reply, given with a wide smirk. This guy isn’t just evil, Rossi thinks – he’s an evil _jackass_, and David Rossi knows about jackasses, being that he is one a good percentage of the time.

Not entirely convinced by the thought of their freedom, he’s in offensive mode as he helps Jordan to her feet. He doubts it’ll do much good, considering this man could kill them all without a second thought, but if he’s going down, then he’s going to go down fighting.

He doesn’t get the chance, though. There’s a blinding flash of light, and he finds himself in another place entirely, which in itself is mindboggling, because teleportation of oneself uses up a whole lot of energy. Teleportation of _three_ people needs some serious juice.

They’re all groaning now, and it takes Rossi a few moments to clear his head and sort out where he is. Green. Trees. Woods.

Just outside of the city then. It’s edging in on darkness, which means that they should probably make their way back into town, lest they run into the rogue ‘wolves in the woods. Dealing with wizards is bad enough.

‘Everyone okay?’ he asks, just to make sure.

‘Yeah,’ says Jordan, still groaning.

Emily nods, but says nothing. Her face is even paler than usual. ‘What happened?’ she asks him, her voice a little shaky.

‘He teleported us out.’

‘Who?’

She can’t remember _anything_, he realizes. Whether that’s something her own brain had pushed upon her, or it’s an amnesia of magical origin, he’s not sure. At the very least, she’s bursting with some kind of energy that isn’t hers, but that could just be leftovers from the battle.

‘What do you remember?’ he asks her, not quite able to hide the concern from his voice.

‘We were going to check out the crime scene,’ she starts, trailing off. ‘And after that, it’s blank.’

‘We should get moving,’ he says decidedly, pulling his phone out of his pocket, surprised that it had survived their incarceration. Hotch _really_ needs to know about this.

*          *          *

‘I’m coming with you,’ Garcia announces, shutting off, and then attempting to lift her laptop off the table. The thing is at least three times the size of her, and Morgan manages to steady her before she knocks it to the floor.

‘Easy there, baby girl,’ he says. ‘It’s too dangerous,’ he adds, in response to her demand. Fairies rarely leave the office, and even then, it’s usually with forms signed in triplicate; in the big wide world, there’s just too much risk for the small creatures.

But then, Penelope Garcia _is_ larger than life in some ways.

‘Wasn’t a question, sweet cheeks,’ she retorts, from the palm of his hand. Her hands are on her hips, and she’s as intimidating as one can be at six inches tall. ‘They’re using computers, which means that you will need a hacker, and like it or not, I am by far, the _sexiest_ hacker in the building. Sorry Kevin,’ She turns to the other white blur in the room, who is apparently disheartened by her statement. ‘You’re very sexy, but you _ain’t no P.G._’

‘She has a point,’ JJ says, the hesitance in her voice telling Morgan that she’s no more comfortable with it than he. ‘And it’s not as if we’ll be sending her into the field with Kevlar strapped on.’

‘It’s Hotch’s call,’ he relents finally, and it’s the closest to agreement that he’s every really going to get; he doesn’t want to lose anyone else.

As if on cue, Hotch walks in, phone pressed against his ear. The expression on his face is somber – more somber than Morgan has ever seen him, and that’s saying something. Morgan’s heart skips a beat – has something happened? Is someone – Reid, or Emily, or Rossi – dead?

Are they too late?

‘That was Rossi,’ he says, hanging up the phone with a click. Morgan frowns – if they’re alive, that’s good news, right? Unless Rossi’s the only one that’s still alive…

The fear must be evident in his eyes, because Hotch assuages his fears quickly. ‘Emily’s fine. Rossi’s not so sure how they got out – he says he’ll “explain later.” But he did find out who was killing the members of the extremist groups.’

This, then, is the news that has him so up in arms. Morgan holds a breath as Hotch speaks;

‘Elle Greenaway.’


	21. Chapter 21

Three months ago

_Derek Morgan straps on his Kevlar vest – they’re dealing with sorcerers, but that doesn’t preclude the possibility of bullets being fired. In any case, the vest has magical shields as well – most blasts will be either deflected or absorbed, providing they’re not too insanely powerful, and considering who they’re dealing with, that’s a distinct possibility._

_Beside him, Elle’s tightening her shoes, her own vest already strapped and clipped in the appropriate places._

_‘We’re still on for drinks after this one?’ she asks, and her voice is a little strained – a dozen dead kids isn’t easy on any of them, not even “tough as nails” Elle Greenaway._

_‘Sure,’ he says. ‘I’m pretty sure everyone else will be rushing to join us.’_

_‘Though we should probably keep Garcia away from the Tequila this time,’ Elle points out. ‘Fairy drinks only.’_

_Morgan smiles at the memory – it hadn’t quite ended badly, but wings and inebriation do not mix on any day of the week, which is why most bars have drinks tailored to species. It’s sometimes hard to keep track, though, because fairies can be damn fast. There are usually at least a couple of them on S.W.A.T teams, because even though they’re incredibly effervescent creatures, there’s no-one better if you’re looking to sneak in and open up a few doorways._

_That’s not what the game plan is today, though, because not even fairies can get past magical safeguards without setting off an alarm. Today, they’re going to storm the place, and hope that they can take down the majority of the cell before there’s too much of a reaction. It’s a pipe dream, though – things like this usually end in firefights. With actual fire. In the past three years, he’s had to replace at least a dozen pairs of pants thanks to scorch marks. Half a dozen more because of irremovable blood stains. And he’d rather forget the time that a sorcerer had just plain decided to _magic _away his pants. Not a good day._

_On a completely unrelated note, he makes sure that his belt is tight, even though it really doesn’t matter. Anath’s Circle would sooner flay him alive than settle for something as trivial as stripping him. It’s not a comforting thought._

_His gun is loaded with magic dispelling bullets, and he clips the holster to his belt. It’s spelled, so that no-one’s going to be magicking the gun away, and he briefly considers finding someone to put the same spell on the pants. Not really important right now, though._

_Elle’s checking her own weapon, and her gaze is clinical, but almost loving, at the same time. It’s been six weeks since the shooting investigation, three weeks since she’s been back at work. She’s changed. Subtly, yes, but when you observe behavior for a living, the slightest change is like a punch in the face._

_‘Are you ready for this?’ he asks, hoping that his inquiry into her wellbeing will be interpreted as nothing more than pre-raid banter; it’s not uncommon, after all._

_‘I’m fine,’ she snaps, as though flicking a rubber band back into his face. There’s a moment of pained silence. ‘Sorry,’ she says, head tilting to the side slightly. ‘It’s been a rough week.’_

_A rough year, really. Hell – it’s been a rough _life. _And that’s not even hyperbolic. There’s just something that draws them to this job, and it isn’t puppies and rainbows._

_‘That’s okay,’ he says with a grin, and it’s not entirely fake. Whatever happens, Elle is one of his best friends, and nothing can change that. ‘Let’s go take these guys down.’ He holds out a fist and she bumps it, and the grin on her face isn’t entirely fake either._

*          *          *

_As expected, Anath’s Circle isn’t going down without a fight – considering that they’d named themselves after a Semitic war goddess, it’s kind of fitting. Of course, it’s not exactly the first thing on his mind, as they’re ducked behind a half demolished wall as bursts of energy fly overhead._

_Yeah. “Putting up a fight” is something of an understatement. There’s a damn good reason why these are usually CTD cases._

_‘We need to take out the leader,’ says Elle matter-of-factly. ‘He’s their power hub.’_

_Morgan nods. He knows this. Take out the leader, and the rest of the group’s magic becomes unfocused, scattered. They won’t be a group so much as they will a collection of individuals. Social psychology._

_‘The others are pinned down,’ she points out, gesturing across the room to the rest of the team. S.W.A.T’s scattered around the place, none of them in as good a position as they are. She’s right, Morgan realizes. If anyone’s going to be taking out the head honcho, it’s going to be them. _

_‘Cover me?’ he asks, because he’s not really sure about her state of mind right now. It’s entirely possible that she’s about to jump out from behind their cover, trigger pumping in a succession of bangs._

_‘Okay,’ she says, eventually, and he feels himself relaxing slightly, because he trusts her, he really does. He just worries sometimes._

_It’s with a deep breath that he darts out, dodging the burst that comes in response to his movement. Elle fires two shots in return, but he can’t tell whether or not she’d managed to hit the assailant._

_And suddenly, it doesn’t seem to matter.  Because they’re not going for him anymore, they’re going for _her. _Take out her, and he doesn’t have any backup. Then they’ll take out him._

_Shit. He’s firing his gun, but it does nothing to stop the bursts of bright red light that strike Elle in the chest, and he’s in just the right position to see the look of utter horror on her face before she’s engulfed in that light._

_He’s crying out, he thinks, but he’s not quite sure, because the world is starting to go a little blurry, and that’s when he realizes that she’s not the only one that’s been hit. Black dots dance at his eyes, and then everything goes numb._


	22. Chapter 22

Three months ago.

_David Rossi _feels _the burst of energy before he sees what happens. When someone casts Obliteration, it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Any person within a half-mile radius can feel it, even if they don’t have any magical skills. This particular Obliteration feels different, though – as though it’s been tainted by some other magics, even if he can’t quite figure out what._

_It’s like someone’s taken a bunch of spells and chucked them in a blender. It happens sometimes, when the air is thick with magic; too many sorcerers spoil the potion._

_His head turns slightly to the side, and he sees Morgan unconscious, and Elle…where’s Elle? He can’t see her, but then, there’re a few visual barriers. He falls back on trying to feel the energy again, seeking out the signature of her body; it’s not a skill that he’s particularly good at, but with enough time, he can usually let all the blocks fall into place._

_There. The world slips away a little bit, detailed visual imagery replaced with blurs of color. Hotch is a vague smear of white to his left. Reid’s grey, over near the door. JJ’s another flash of white. The S.W.A.T team is a rainbow of colors; reds and blacks and whites and silvers, all pulsating at their own rhythm. Morgan’s red, fading a little bit at the edges, thanks to his state of unconsciousness. Elle’s…_

_Elle’s gone._

_Not just dead – there’s another energy signature altogether for that – but disappeared entirely. He can’t feel her anywhere –even if she’d just been transported, then he should still feel an echo. She’d been there one minute, and gone the next. Such an event so close to the Obliteration is not good news at all. Part of him is already starting to accept the fact that she’s dead, even if the words haven’t yet been spoken aloud._

_‘Morgan and Elle are down,’ he tells Hotch; his words don’t betray his suspicions, but Hotch is not an idiot._

_‘Can you get to him?’ Hotch asks, the “him” no doubt referring to the Anath’s Circle leader. Rossi cranes his head out slightly, assessing the situation – two minutes ago, he probably would have said no, but now, he’s feeling a little bit angrier about the whole situation, and while he hasn’t been young and foolish in a long time, he doesn’t particularly like it when people kill his friends. _

_Every bit of power he can muster up is going directly to his fingertips. Being awake afterwards doesn’t really seem to matter so much anymore. All that matters is ending this before anyone else dies. And, God help him, he does._

_It takes every single ounce of strength in his body to set off the Concussion burst, because it needs to be powerful enough to take this guy down in one shot._

_They’re lucky that this is one of the weaker cells of the Circle. Next time he’s going to recommend they’re accompanied by a full regiment of sorcerers, which really, was supposed to happen today, only some idiot decided that their services were better used elsewhere. He’s going to personally ensure that this particular idiot is the recipient of a swift kick up the behind._

_Once he regains consciousness of course._

_He feels the energy escaping from his body as it gathers at the tip of his staff. All the rays of light that are bouncing around the room miraculously seem to miss him, even though he’s out in the open now._

_The light bursts into a flower, the silence overwhelming. There’s noise, he knows, but his ears are so numb that he can’t even begin to think what the sounds might be. Hotch has his hands on his ears; it’s bad for wizards. It’s probably ten times worse for humans._

_Then, all of a sudden, everything stops. His staff clatters to the ground, and the silence is real, actual silence, rather than just his ears choosing not to perceive the noise. There are unconscious and half-conscious, and in some cases, dead bodies lying scattered._

_‘Are you alright?’ a member of S.W.A.T. asks him; silver bursts of light are still circling his torso. Vampire. Of course vampires would be unaffected._

_Before he can say anything, his knees give out, and he drops to the ground._

*          *          *

Who am I?

_Those are her first thoughts as she wakes up. Her first thoughts, that is, after “_ow” _and_ “ugh”. _She’s in a forest somewhere, the dark trees giving it an ominous atmosphere. She can’t remember a single thing about anything._

_A blank slate._

_Red light._

_She remembers red light._

_Nothing else._

_Had something happened to make her forget?_

_Is there someone out there looking for her?_

_She stands up, a little shakily, but her body’s intact, which is a small blessing. Ten fingers. Ten toes. Arms. Legs. All the right pieces are there. She’s wearing a vest that has “F.B.I” printed on it, and the letters don’t have any immediate meaning. There’s something in the back of her mind telling her that it’s important, but she tries to brush it away, because her head is pulsating with pain right now._

_She slips the vest off, because it’s heavy, and she lets her body relax a little bit, which is difficult. Her muscles are tight, and her legs are aching. Whether it’s from whatever had sent her here, or something else entirely, she isn’t quite sure._

_There’s a badge in her pocket._

_Name: Elle Greenaway  
Species: Human  
Age: 33_

_The photo in the upper left hand corner is hers, as far as she’s aware. She doesn’t have a mirror, or any kind of reflection, but she feels the shape of her face, and her hair, and really, why would she have someone else’s badge in her pocket._

_It says “Federal Bureau of Investigation,” which fits with the initials on the vest, but it’s still not right. There’s something there telling her that her name is Elle Greenaway, but she feels no connection to that name at all. She might as well be “John Doe” for all the emotional resonance that the name gives her._

_A blank slate._

_She doesn’t even know who she is._

_Not really._


	23. Chapter 23

They go back to the office.

Because really, after getting into a fight with an evil wizard, and being kept prisoner and then having your memory wiped and getting kicked out onto your ass, that’s really all you can do.

_Actually, that’s not right_, Emily corrects herself, because she’s the only one that had had her memory wiped. Jordan had been unconscious for most of it, and Rossi had only learned one really important thing – Elle Greenaway is alive. Alive and responsible for the deaths of their victims. Not the most comforting of situations.

Emily’s learned something important today – mind wipes give you a hell of a headache. She makes a note of it for the next time she has an encounter with one of those evil wizards. She washes a couple of painkillers down with half a glass of medical emergency blood – the med Agent had raised an eyebrow, because it’s the third time this week she’s had to make use of the stuff. She tips the rest of the glass out, because she’s not particularly interested in reinforcing the blood addiction, even if it is only rat’s blood.

The rest of the team has moved from Garcia’s lair, if only because with Emily and Rossi there, claustrophobia levels would shoot through the roof.

In any case, the air of sobriety that’s overtaken the group is hardly subtle. Both cases, now, are highly personal – a factor that the BAU are supposed to go out of their way to avoid. She finds it somewhat ironic that the only cases she’s actually been present for so far have been personal. She vaguely wonders whether the next case will see Garcia kidnapped by the Fairy Mafia, or have Rossi’s secret, long-lost evil twin out for revenge for one reason or another.

Even then, in her experience, the cases that aren’t personal are usually made personal, because magic and pheromones don’t really mix that well.

‘How’re you doing?’ JJ asks as they step into the conference room, even though Emily’s pretty sure they don’t really need to answer that question out loud.

‘We’ve been better,’ is Rossi’s answer, which has an undercurrent of acidity to it – not directed towards JJ, but at the whole situation.

When it comes down to it, they have two agents missing. One formerly presumed dead, and now murdering people, the other suffering an identity crisis in the hands of people who could well be serial killers themselves.  At the heart of it, they’re a _team_, even if she doesn’t quite feel a part of it yet, and even if things have been a little shaky. They need to break it down together.

Emily takes a seat next to Morgan, who shuffles a little closer and puts a hand on her shoulder. ‘Are you alright?’ he asks, and she’s a little thrown by the question.

‘Been better.’ She echoes Rossi’s words, but she knows, and she’s fairly sure that everyone else knows that there’s more to it. There’s something at the back of her mind, something fuzzy, something she knows she should be able to see, but it’s like looking through the morning fog. All a haze.

Hotch breaks it down.

‘We need to find Spencer, and we need to find Elle,’ he says, as though it’s the simplest thing in the world, and sometimes he almost makes it seem as though it is. ‘We’re running the data we have on Reid’s kidnappers through the system.’ He almost hesitates on the words “kidnappers” but it’s so slight that Emily doubts anyone other than those assembled would have noticed it. ‘But we also believe that he might go back through his past in search for answers, which means we need to go to Argadnel.’

‘What about Elle?’ Garcia asks, hovering over the keyboard, and the question hangs heavy in the air. There’s unquestionable guilt on every one of their faces, as though they feel they could have stopped their former colleague’s descent into murder, if only they’d known she’s still alive. Nothing they can do about it now, though, save for tracking her down and making sure she doesn’t do it again.

Admittedly, Emily has less of a stake in this case – she’s only heard of Elle Greenaway, never met her. Even Spencer, she barely knows, but apparently becoming part of the team means living through the nightmares.

‘You four are going to Argadnel,’ Hotch says finally, looking at Morgan, JJ, Garcia, and finally, Emily. ‘Rossi and I will deal with the Elle situation. Garcia, is Agent Lynch capable enough to lend his expertise?’

‘Sure,’ buzzes Garcia. ‘And if you need me-’ She zips around the table, circling each member of the team. ‘-if you need _any_ of us, we’re only a phone call away.’

It’s a sobering thought, but Emily can’t help but think that they’re all going to be needing each other in the days to come.


	24. Chapter 24

Morgan watches as Emily takes a hesitant step inside the jet.  It’s always a surprise to newcomers and the local police that they work with. Teleportation would be quicker, of course, but it’s far less accurate, and uses up too much energy to justify the switchover. It’s not just about speed, though. The flight gives them time to go over the files, slowly edge into the shallow end.

Not today, though. Today, he wishes they made use of some of the Bureau’s more powerful sorcerers. Today, he wishes they could make that ten second trip and hit the ground running.

As it stands, it’s a five hour flight to Argadnel. Emily’s asleep – her experience with Anath’s Circle had been exhausting. They’re all exhausted, really. It hasn’t been an easy week. As soon as they find Reid, find Elle, he plans on taking the phone off the hook and then sleeping for two days straight. There is, of course, the option of ensuring that those two days aren’t spent alone, but he’ll deal with that when it comes around.

‘Here’s what we have on Reid’s…family,’ JJ says, passing him the files that Garcia had managed to find. Technically speaking they’re the family of the original Spencer Reid, but that’s mostly semantics now. In his mind, their Reid _is _the original Reid.

‘Diana Reid, inpatient at the Capgras Institution – she’s schizophrenic.’

There’s a long pause. ‘Did you know?’ Morgan asks. He wonders if Reid even knows, or whether it’s a memory that hadn’t been transferred. Unsurprisingly, JJ shakes her head.

‘He never really mentioned anything much about his life,’ she says, sadly. ‘Sometimes it’s as though the job was the only thing for him.’ The words hang heavy; they’re both aware of the unintended addendum – Spencer Reid had been betrayed by the only thing left in his life.

Emily sits up with a yawn, her hair pressing against her face. She takes a few moments to blink away the sleep in her eyes before picking up the last file on the table.

‘So do we think she knows what happened to her son?’

‘For all we know, she’s the one that commissioned the droid.’ His words are hollow – it pains him to think of one of his best friends as a droid, especially considering just how _un­-_droidlike he behaves. Sometimes, he even forgets.

‘But she might not remember doing that,’ points out JJ, and Morgan has no argument to that. Either way, though, they need to question Diana Reid, and hope that she might be able to point them in the direction of the roboticist that had designed Spencer Reid, Mark II.

‘So, what do we know about his father?’ Emily flips to the second sheaf of papers in the file. ‘William Reid – left his wife and son when Spencer was ten years old. He’s a sorcerer specializing in civil engineering. I guess if you ever wanted to know what keeps buildings upright…’

‘You think a civil engineer would have contacts in the robotics field?’ Morgan wonders aloud.

‘But why would he care?’ JJ says, brow furrowed. ‘Leave your wife and child, why bother finding someone capable of creating the most sophisticated piece of technology the world has ever seen to replace someone you haven’t seen in eight years? And then not tell anyone about it?’

‘Parenthood is a powerful thing.’ Emily’s voice is a whisper, and she looks away, frowning, as though there’s something else that’s burdening her thoughts.

It’s dark when they land – too late to visit either of Reid’s parents. While a good majority of people are nocturnal, it’s seen as bad etiquette to knock on a door after the sun goes down, unless you’re dealing with a vampire.

They’d managed to book three hotel rooms at short notice – Argadnel is first and foremost a tourist town, which means there’s no shortage of accommodation. Part of Morgan wants to charge into the Capgras Institute and question Diana Reid, etiquette be damned, but he manages to control himself. They’ll be even further away from finding Reid if someone calls in a complaint.

Instead, he finds himself knocking on the door to Emily’s hotel room. She’d excused herself quickly after dinner, her lack of appetite uncharacteristic, even for a vampire. She lets him in with a raised eyebrow, apparently unsurprised at his presence.

‘We probably shouldn’t be having quickies on Bureau time,’ she says drily, and Morgan finds himself giving a short laugh. They both know that’s not why he’s here.

‘I just wanted to see…how you were doing.’

She shrugs. It’s a closed off gesture, her body tucking away. ‘I’ve been trying to clear my mind, trying to go through all the events in sequence, but the bit in the middle is always just one long blur.’

‘Cognitive interview?’ he suggests, and Emily gives him a pointed look.

‘Morgan, I’m not a victim.’

He gives a small smile. Her indignance is endearing, in spite of the vampirism. _Because_ of the vampirism, even. ‘Close your eyes.’

She does so, her breath speeding up the slightest touch. He can smell the fear, even if she’s trying so damn hard not to show it.

‘You’re in the forest, at the crime scene. Agents Todd and Rossi are with you…’ He trails off, leaving the narrative for her to continue.

‘It’s quiet. We’re a little way outside of the city limits. If there are rogue wolves around, then they’re probably sleeping. I can…I can smell _death_.’ She chokes on her words slightly, and Morgan lets his hand rest atop hers, not saying anything.

‘Rossi can feel the magic in the air…so does Jordan. I don’t…I can’t. I see _them_, before I feel it.’

‘Who’s “them?”’

‘Anath’s Circle,’ she breathes. ‘Half a dozen of them. We fight, but…’ She shakes her head, teeth pressing down hard against her lip. ‘Pain. I wake up, and all I can feel is pain.’ The fingers of one hand encircle her wrist, and he sees the red, cross-shaped marks that are burned there. She lets out a half-choked cry. ‘A man comes, and he shows us the person responsible for the deaths – Agent Greenaway. But he isn’t finished. He takes me out of the cell, and then…’

There’s a long silence.

‘…and then I don’t know. That’s all I can give you.’

He suppresses the grimace – it’s more than she’d remembered before, even if it adds nothing new to what they already know.

The burden of ignorance will be upon her shoulders for a little while longer, it seems.


	25. Chapter 25

There is a long, awkward silence. Long, in the sense that it’s been awkward and silent since the start of their journey, more than five hours ago. It’s a stalemate, Reid realizes – Austin won’t talk to Reid in front of Riley, or talk to Riley in front of Reid, and there’s very little chance of Riley talking to Reid.

It’s late when they finally do stop; the small town of Grendel is already asleep, the only lights being the flashing neon of the only motel. Evidently not a tourist hotspot. Theoretically, if they’re looking to hide, then a tourist spot might actually be better – they’ll be lost in the throes of the crowd. Here, they’re noticeable.

Reid says nothing.

They check into their motel room, which is a modest “two singles and a double” deal, all cramped together, with barely enough room to put their luggage, if they’d had any.

‘I’m going to go grab some food,’ Riley says, just seconds after they’ve stepped inside. ‘You like cheeseburgers, kid?’

Riley’s barely thirty, and his tone is kind of condescending, but at least he isn’t saying “droid” or “you freakish metal bastard” so Reid takes it as a win.

‘Um…sure,’ says Reid, frowning. ‘No pickles, though. And, uh…diet soda.’

Riley raises an eyebrow at Austin, who shrugs and says, ‘Whatever you’re having.’

Austin goes to the bathroom as Riley steps outside Reid finds himself sitting on the edge of one of the beds, contemplating. His mind moves at enormous speeds, but he still can’t quite comprehend the events of the last few days. He has almost ten minutes to do so, as it seems that Austin has decided to take a shower again.

When she pushes the bathroom door open, her hair is wet, and she has that post-shower aura hanging off of her.

A different kind of awkward silence hangs in the air, punctuated by Austin’s, ‘If we drive all day tomorrow, then we should make it before sundown.’

Reid nods. ‘That’s good.’ Evidently, though, his words don’t convince Austin.

‘Are you afraid?’ She sits on the bed beside him, and his olfactory senses are overwhelmed by jasmine.

He considers the question, realizing that he isn’t entirely sure of the answer. ‘I don’t know. My mo – Diana Reid…she’s, uh…schizophrenic. Her perception of reality is already tumultuous without bringing life-like robots into the equation.’

‘Maybe she doesn’t remember,’ Austin suggests, and Reid gives a small shrug.

‘Whichever way you look at it, I’m not her son. I was created to resemble her son, but…I don’t really have any family.’

Austin has a sad smile on her face. ‘Dmitri was the only person in my family I was ever really close too. It was hard not to love him. Riley…He can be a jerk…a lot…but he has a good heart. More than I can say for myself, at least.’

She chokes back a sob. ‘I’m sorry…you really don’t want to hear this – your problems are much worse than mine.’

Reid hesitates. This isn’t his area of expertise. He deals with the facts, the statistics, the probabilities. Talking to people, consoling the families of victims, getting witnesses to open up – that’s JJ’s field, Hotch’s field, even. Anyone’s but his. The psychologist in him points out the use of present tense when referring to the team, as if he’s still a part of it.

That’s something he hasn’t quite figured out yet. He’d thought, once upon a time, that they might be the family that’s otherwise missing in his life, but now he isn’t so sure. He’s fairly sure he could escape this so called “captivity” at any time, but he’s genuinely curious about the answers they seek.

There are other feelings there too, ones he’s not quite sure he understands. Whether that’s a function of his artificial biological system, or an inherent process, or even something that he’s been socialized to feel, he isn’t sure. What’s even more confusing is that he doesn’t ignore the feelings, or even push them away. Overwhelmed by them, he leans forward and lets his lips brush against hers.

Austin stiffens slightly, but doesn’t pull away. ‘Spencer,’ she breathes, when the kiss finally does break.

Reid straightens awkwardly, not quite sure of how to proceed. ‘I’m sorry,’ he says. ‘This is…confusing. Physical attraction is a biological process caused by neurotransmitters–’

Austin puts a finger to his lips. ‘Your random bursts of information might be incredibly sexy, but now is not the time.’ Her finger trails down to his chest, and she presses her palm flat against where his heart should be. ‘The nuts and bolts aren’t what are important. It’s the soul that’s important, and a soul is something that can’t be faked. Not by the most ingenious of roboticists. You are…unique.’

She moves to straddle him, her hands cupping his cheek as she pulls his face towards hers again. There’s a wicked grin on her face.

‘It looks like they got something right.’ She shifts her hips just slightly, and he feels the surge of arousal realizing too late that his body had provided him with an unconscious biological reaction.

The door swings open, and everything stops.

Today is the day for awkward silences, it seems. Riley stands in the doorway, two paper bags in one hand, and a tray of drinks in the other. The smell of burgers and fries wafts in Reid’s direction.

Austin scrambles off his lap quickly, and Reid excuses himself to the bathroom. He doesn’t have time for a cold shower, but then Riley’s return had quelled the mood sufficiently that his arousal is diminishing.

‘…gonna fuck the toaster, too?’ he hears through the closed door, and decides that perhaps he should stay in the bathroom for a little while longer.


	26. Chapter 26

He sits on the edge of the bathtub until his reaction has subsided, the beat of his heart slowing down to a normal rate. It must be a psychological thing; he only feels it because he expects to. If he stops and concentrates, then it suddenly disappears, and he’s just that clockwork boy all over again.

Maybe he’s deluding himself. Maybe he should just look for the off switch, the self destruct button. He can never really be human, no matter how hard he tries. No matter what they say.

He can’t stay in the bathroom forever, though, and climbing out the window isn’t particularly practical; it’s nighttime in a small town in the middle of nowhere. Sometimes…

Sometimes you just have to face the music.

He steps back into the room, eyes cast down towards the floor. In his peripheral vision, he can see Austin looking up quickly, but then back towards her meal. Riley has apparently chosen to ignore the situation completely, saying, ‘No pickles, diet soda,’ and gesturing towards the meal on the table. Reid takes it to the bed, not particularly wanting to sit so close to Riley.

He takes the top bun off the cheeseburger, and arranges a few of his fries on top of the patty. It’s something that Morgan finds incredibly amusing, but he’s been doing it all his life, and he likes the taste of it, so he isn’t going to stop.

But no. That’s not right. Because it’s not his life. It’s somebody else’s life. Spencer Reid Mark II is barely eight years old.

So why, then?

 

Why does he keep doing these things – these things from another person’s memories? Why can’t he stop?

With any luck, he’s find some answers in Argadnel. From the woman who is supposed to be his mother. He feels a little less guilty for not having visited her now, even if she refuses to see him. A little less guilty for writing a letter a week and pretending that it’s enough.

If she doesn’t know anything, then he’s not sure what he’ll do.

His father – his _fake­ _father – might have some answers, but that the thought of that meeting brings even greater discomfort.

Even with the added topping, the cheeseburger is a little bland, but the fries are good, and it’s difficult to screw up soda, even the kind that’s made with syrup and carbonated water. He dabs at his mouth with the provided napkin; he’s a fastidious eater and he wonders if that’s something else that’d been passed on from the original Spencer Reid. Just how different is he?

When he’s finished eating, he takes off his belt, shoes and watch. He doesn’t have any other clothes with him, and he doesn’t particularly want to take off everything else with Riley and Austin still in the room, so he decides to just sleep in what he’s wearing.

‘We can see if there are any clothes stores in town tomorrow morning,’ Austin says, which surprises him, because he hadn’t even realizes that she’d been paying attention.

Riley opens his mouth to argue, but Austin cuts in. ‘Ri, we kidnapped the guy, making sure he has a change of clothes is the _least _we can do.’

Reid’s heart drops slightly. It’s the first time in a while that she’s used the word “kidnapped” and part of him had hoped that she’d moved past it.

_Classic symptoms of Agnafit_ _Syndrome,_ his mind tells him. _Paradoxical psychological phenomenon wherein a positive bond between hostage and captor occurs that appears irrational in light of the frightening ordeal endured by the victims. FBI Law Enforcement Bulletin. The Hostage Barricade Database System shows that roughly 27% of victims show evidence of Agnafit Syndrome_

They’ve seen Agnafit Syndrome before; a sorcerer’s slaves rising up against them when they storm the castle, a bank full of hostages refusing to testify against the armed shapeshifter that had held them captive for four days. Those memories – the memories with the BAU – he knows are his. They’re real. The team is real. It’s all so confusing, and it’s easy to understand_ why_ they’d kept this from him – part of him is desperate to return to a state of ignorance, even though that’s against everything he believes in. He believes in intelligence. In learning. In knowing the unknowable.

Maybe he’ll be able to forgive them, but he isn’t quite sure yet. To find out where he’s going, he needs to find out who he is. And to do that, he needs to remain with his “kidnappers” a little while longer.

He slips underneath the covers of one of the single beds, and though his mind is plagued with the possibilities of what the next day will bring, sleep comes quickly.

*          *          *

Morgan wakes up, starving.

He always eats excessively at breakfast, even on the non-full moon nights. Just a habit that he’s picked up over the years. Sometimes, they’re working too hard to stop for lunch, so that meal needs to sustain him until they do find time for a break.

In Argadnel, every single hotel seems to have free breakfast. Free, that is, in the sense that you’re really paying for it in the exorbitant nightly rates, but seeing as the Bureau is paying for their rooms, Morgan doesn’t mind indulging in the long tables of various foodstuffs.

Capgras Institution visiting hours don’t start until eleven; they could badge their way in, but there’s really no sense in skipping breakfast.

He’s not surprised to see Emily already in the Breakfast area, but he is surprised to see that she’s arguing with the guy that’s running the Blood counter. They apparently reach some kind of settlement though, so he doesn’t jump in, but he _is _curious.

‘What was that?’ he asks, when she joins him at the table, plate of peanut-butter smeared pancakes in one hand, and a mug full of coffee in the other. He sniffs – yeah, just coffee. His inquisitiveness getting the better of him, he’d decided to talk to her before getting his own food

‘What, with the blood guy? Oh – they don’t have any rat’s blood.’ She shakes her head, stabbing her fork into the topmost pancake. ‘Un-fucking-believable. They have goat’s blood, deer blood. Hell – I can get the blood of a _virgin _for thirty-seven dollars a glass, but they can’t give me rat.’

Morgan shrugs. ‘People don’t come here to abstain, I guess.’ It’s not a particularly good answer, but it’s the only one he has.

‘Mmm,’ Emily says. ‘You don’t mind if we hit a Bloodbank on the way to Capgras?’ she asks. Technically speaking, he’s in charge, but it’s not as though he’s going to say no. A bloodless vampire is a weak, angry vampire, and the last thing they need is to have any of them below strength. They’re already undermanned.

He sighs. Though they’re here for a reason, it still feels as though they aren’t any closer to finding Reid than they had been yesterday morning. He wishes they had some indication that he’s even still alive. All they really seem to have right now is their best guess at the situation.

When it’s all over – and he doesn’t want to even think about the possibility of a bad ending – he is never letting Spencer Reid out of his sight again.


	27. Chapter 27

It's not even 9am, but already, Hotch has been working for hours. He'd slept fitfully on the sofa in his office, but not nearly enough to consider himself rested. Too much work to do. He can sleep when he's dead.

The time has been spent going over every single thing he knows – or that he thought he'd known – about Elle Greenaway.

The profiler in him says that she's probably stuck in some kind of fugue state – memory loss would explain the reason why she hasn't tried to contact them, not to mention the reason why she's killing people. The "Vigilante" mode is common in law enforcement officers who have lost control, and nothing spells loss of control like a memory wipe.

There's something deeper down that wonders if he's wrong. That maybe the profiler attitude is just a defense mechanism, and really, Elle Greenaway remembers everything. After all, what better alibi than a gravestone? He can't deny that she's been overly aggressive towards unsubs in the past.

'What do you think?' Rossi asks, his fingers resting atop the closed file in front of him.

Hotch shakes his head. 'She's smart – if she knows who she is, then she won't be staying anywhere that we'd be able to easily link to her. If she doesn't, then there's a chance she might have used what memories she had to try and find somewhere familiar.'

There's a long pause.

'I don't think she remembers,' Rossi says eventually. 'If she did, she would have known that Anath's Circle would be able to use Last Sight to see her face. And honestly, I don't think the Elle Greenaway _we_ know would have gone after such a powerful group.'

Hotch nods, running a hand through his hair. He's tired, worn out, exhausted to the point that he's missing the details, and details mean absolutely everything to a profiler.

'Take a break,' Rossi suggests, and Hotch is almost about to argue, when the older man continues, 'A _real_ break. Take a nap, have a shower, get some coffee. As much as you like being an incurable workaholic, you're of more use when you're awake.'

'That's not the only thing, is it?' Hotch asks, frowning. He can read David Rossi like a book, half dead or not.

'The Deputy Director wants to see you, and I figured that it's a meet you don't want to be falling asleep in the middle of.'

Hotch swears, which really, cements the exhaustion thing as much as any of the other symptoms. 'Is it urgent?'

'I think he just wants to be updated.' His head cocks sideways. 'Considering the circumstances, I can understand why.'

Hotch stands, stretching. His body is starting to ache, a culmination of the last week's events. He hasn't had such a hectic time in his life since law school. When your professors are psychic, they know _exactly_ how much you've been studying.

He'll allow himself the shower and the coffee, but he doesn't have time to take another rest. The seconds to midnight are ticking down, and he doesn't know what's going to happen once it gets there.

…

As per Emily's request, Morgan stops by a drive-thru Bloodbank before they leave the city limits and head out to the Capgras Institution. The blood is original flavor: Bloodbanks won't mix with coffee, or weetbix, or any other substance. They leave that to the commercial vendors. Commercial vendors that apparently don't find rat's blood a very profitable enterprise.

In the back seat, it's a little easier to be discreet about something that a fair few people find disgusting. It's not the people that find it disgusting she has a problem with – it's the people that find it insulting.

She's been trying to get away from this her whole life – she doesn't need the dirty looks.

Still. The blood is revitalizing, if a little bit stale. With packaged goods, you're bound to get that problem. Fresh would be so much nicer, but then there's the problem of legal limitations. Of course, some people don't pay attention to those laws. Usually, though, there are far worse things to charge them with.

The Capgras Institution is a little way out of town – Argadnel is far too much of a tourist destination for it to be anywhere inside the city limits. It scares the high rollers away, for one thing. Secondly, bright lights and loud noises aren't typically the best treatment options for the psychologically damaged.

The buildings become more and more spread apart, until finally there's nothing but desert. It feels like they're in the middle of nowhere, but they're not even an hour out of Argadnel.

Still.

'This feels like the set-up to a bad horror movie,' JJ mutters.

'What?' Morgan says, and Emily can tell that he's grinning, even if she can't see his face. 'A psychic, a vampire and a werewolf get trapped inside a hospital for the criminally insane? There'd have to be some pretty fucked up monsters inside for that to be anything other than a cakewalk.'

'That's why the protagonists are always human,' Emily says, the slightest hint of bitterness sounding in her voice. Stereotyping means that some people will always be seen as monsters. Really, though, she's known that for seven hundred years.

They pull into the guest parking lot, which is depressingly empty. Whether that's because of the psychology concerning the relationship between patients and their relatives, or because of the Institution itself remains to be seen. JJ's not wrong, though – it's a pretty creepy place, even if they do happen to be fully armed, in-human FBI agents.

Their footsteps echo as they step inside, the foyer empty save for the single receptionist's desk. She eyes them cautiously, as if suspicious about their motives.

'Derek Morgan, FBI.' As the Agent in charge, Morgan takes the lead, adding, 'These are Agents Jareau and Prentiss. We need to see a patient of yours – Diana Reid.' The nurse straightens in her chair – the name had meant something to her, of that, there is no doubt.

'I'm afraid that won't be possible,' she tells them curtly.

'You didn't even look in the records,' JJ points out.

'Diana Reid has been problematic recently,' the nurse explains. 'She isn't taking visitors.'

'Ma'am, this is _very _important,' Emily interjects, feeling the tension from Morgan even though he's two feet away. He's probably going to break something soon enough. 'Miss Reid's assistance is material to a federal investigation. Lives could be in danger.' Kind of the truth – not a lie, at least. Reid's safety isn't completely assured, and if they don't get him back, Morgan might go smoke out a vampire clan just to make himself feel better.

The nurse purses her lips, clearly uncomfortable with the situation. 'I'll call Doctor Augustine, but I can't promise that he'll allow you to see her.'

Morgan seems to be satisfied with that answer, and they step away from the desk in order to have a brief conversation before the doctor arrives.

'Does this feel strange to you?' JJ whispers, her brow furrowed.

Emily shrugs. 'There're far hinkier things. Could you read the nurse?'

'They have psychic dampeners up,' JJ admits. 'A stronger psychic could probably break them, but…' She shakes her head.

'So we check it out,' Morgan says. 'Talk to Diana Reid, if they let us in. If not, we find a way to get a warrant.'

As far as plans go, it's not a bad one, but right now, it still feels like they're running out of options. More importantly, they're running out of time.


	28. Chapter 28

They wait in the foyer for what seems like forever, minutes ticking away as though they're hours. Morgan has checked his watch half a dozen times before finally, a man in a white coat comes out to greet them.

'My name is Doctor Samson.' He holds out his hand, unperturbed by the presence of three on-edge FBI agents. 'I understand you're interested in seeing Diana Reid – may I ask what this is about?'

Morgan looks towards his colleagues in turn. Emily gives him a slight shrug as if to say, "It's your call" and JJ just nods. 'We're trying to find her son, Spencer.'

The doctor frowns. 'You are aware that Spencer Reid is dead?'

'I'm aware that the original Reid is dead,' Morgan counters, hating every single word that comes out of his mouth. 'We're searching for his android replacement, who has disappeared.' Samson looks around the foyer, frowning.

'Perhaps we should take this to my office.' He leads them down the hall, walls a stark white. Morgan feels a slight surge of pity for the patients in the institution. The office itself is a little more stimulating – a few pictures on the walls, a filled bookshelf – but all of that can't change the kind of creepy vibe the place gives off.

'Perhaps you should get to know me before you start making judgment calls, Agent Morgan,' Samson says, gesturing towards the two empty chairs across from his desk. Morgan stands, letting Emily and JJ take the chairs.

'You're a psychic,' Morgan says bluntly, kicking himself for not putting together the facts. Psychic psychologists probably have a much better success rate than the non-psychics.

'I am,' Samson nods, 'But I don't need to read your mind to see the skepticism. You aren't the only person who's trained in behavioral analysis. How much do you know about Diana Reid's condition?'

'She's schizophrenic,' JJ says, and it's almost a question, to which Samson shakes his head slightly.

'Yes, but that's not the full story – before her condition deteriorated, Diana Reid was also a psychic. The sound of other people's voices in your head combined with the delusive states of schizophrenia is a horrifying way to live.' There's a moment of grim silence. 'The psychic dampeners have some suppressive effect, and we medicate the other symptoms, but the human mind is not a simple thing. It marvels me to think that someone may have found a way of duplicating it to create such a humanoid android.'

'You've met the second Spencer Reid?' JJ queries, to which Samson shakes his head again.

'I've seen it – in Diana's scans. Her thoughts are jumbled, but there's reference to a man to help bring her son back. At first, I thought perhaps she'd found a necromancer, but that doesn't seem her style.'

'Could we speak to her?' Morgan asks. 'I understand that she's in a fragile state, but she may be the only one able to tell us where Re-…where Spencer is.'

'I'll allow it,' Samson tells them. 'However, I must ask that only one of you go in, and that person will be accompanied by myself. I can't risk an episode.'

Morgan nods. 'JJ, you should go in.' It's not how he'd prefer to do it, but JJ has the empathy that neither he or Emily possess. With or without psychic dampeners, she'll have the best luck getting through to Reid's mother.

Samson brings Diana into the common room area, emptied of all other patients. He stands behind JJ as Morgan and Emily watch from a distance. Fortunately, they've both got good enough hearing that distance isn't a problem.

'Her heart's beating fast,' Emily murmurs. 'She's scared.'

Morgan nods. 'I can smell it.' Diana reminds him of Reid in a lot of ways – she's tall and lanky with wild hair, and he wonders if that's genetics, or if being locked away in the Capgras Institution has made her this way. That said, technically speaking, there's no biological connection between her and _his_ Reid at all.

'Hi, my name's Jennifer,' JJ says softly, and Morgan knows there's a smile on her face, even if he can't see it. 'I'd like to ask you a few questions about your son.'

Diana has a dreamy, far off look on her face. 'My boy. My Spence. He'll be five soon. They grow up so fast. Do you have any children, Jennifer?'

JJ shakes her head. 'No, I don't.'

'No,' agrees Diana. 'But you will. It's a hard road, but you're tough, and so is he. Hang in there, and it'll be alright. I can't say the same for your friends though – their future is a little murky.'

Morgan gives a quick sideways glance to Emily, whose brow is furrowed.

'I need to know about Spencer, Mrs. Reid – do you know what happened to him?'

Diana tilts her head slightly, as if trying to remember. 'Spencer…I lost my Spencer. But then I got him back. The Puppet Master, he…No! That's not my Spencer…Or maybe he is, and the other one's fake. All he wants is to be a real boy, and that's the one thing that Mister Geppetto can't give him.' Diana stands all of a sudden leaning forward so that she's just inches from JJ's face. To her credit, JJ doesn't flinch. 'Don't let him see me like this. I don't…I don't want him to know what I had to do.'

'What did you do?' JJ asks, but Samson interjects.

'That's enough,' he says. 'She's getting worked up.'

'Don't let him come!' Diana calls out as she's led back to her room. 'He needs to find Mister Geppetto, but don't let him know what I did!'


	29. Chapter 29

‘So…’ says Morgan. ‘“Mister Geppetto” and the “Puppet Master”.  It kind of feels like this was a waste of time.’ They’re sitting in the SUV in the parking lot of the Capgras Institution, trying to collate all of the information that they’ve just received.

‘I don’t think so,’ JJ says, and out of the corner of his eye, Morgan can see that the psychic is shaking her head. ‘Not even the psychic dampeners could block out her guilt. She knows what she did.’

‘But then who’s Mister Geppetto? And why does Reid need to find him?’ Emily asks.

‘Wasn’t he the woodcarver in _Pinocchio_?’ Morgan wonders aloud. ‘Makes a puppet made of wood, and the puppet wants to become a real boy, so he goes in search of some fairy, or something.’

‘Fairy with the turquoise hair,’ provides JJ. ‘Though it was the Blue Fairy in the movie – she promises to turn him into a real boy if he works hard and obeys her, but then Lampwick lures him into the Land of Toys. Later on, though, she fulfils her promise, and Pinocchio wakes up as a real boy.’

Morgan gives her a look.

‘I liked fairy tales as a kid,’ she says with a shrug.

‘Then maybe we should be looking for the fairy with the turquoise hair instead,’ Emily points out. ‘Creature that can turn a puppet into a real boy – sound familiar?’

‘You think there’s someone out there that can turn him into a human?’ Morgan frowns. ‘Seems a little farfetched, don’t you think?’

‘Everything that’s happened this month, and you think magic that turns a robot into a human is farfetched?’

‘Point taken.’ He hesitates. ‘I don’t know…It just seems like…He’s already human enough, you know? I know he was a robot, but I never really saw him as one.’

‘That’s not what he feels,’ says JJ, and Emily doesn’t say anything at all. ‘We’re going to need to do some serious groveling when all this is over.’

None of them bring up the possibility that they might not get a happy ending out of this; that Reid might die, or he might decide that he doesn’t really want to be friends with people that lie to him, or any number of other unfavorable outcomes. Morgan is determined to do everything he can to get his friend back, though. The word failure isn’t in his vocabulary today.

‘Maybe Reid’s father will be able to shed some light on what Diana told us,’ Emily suggests, the tone in her voice making it evident that she wants to get them back into gear. It’s less personal for her. Morgan nods, stepping on the clutch and turning the key in the ignition.

Though they hadn’t spend that long at the Institution, the drive is long enough that it’s past midday by the time they make it back inside city limits. Talking to William Reid could take a while, so they stop for a hurried lunch at some nameless diner in the middle of the business district. While he waits for his sandwich, Morgan puts a call through to Garcia, back at the hotel.

‘Hey, gorgeous.’

‘_My liege! What can I do for you today?_’

‘We spoke to Diana Reid – she didn’t give us anything concrete, but can you run through the files and see if you can find anything related to a “Mister Geppetto” or a Puppet Master?’

‘_As in, _Pinocchio?’

‘Yep.’

‘_You think Reid got swallowed by a whale?_’

‘I sincerely hope not. I think it could be a code or a nickname for the person that might have made him. Hopefully Mr. Reid will be able to give us a better idea.’

‘_I will do my bedley-est,’ _she assures them, ‘_But if it’s some kind of nickname, then I don’t think I’ll be able to find anything._’ The call ends, and Morgan stares down at the table.

‘Maybe we should consider getting a warrant for a psychic evaluation,’ he suggests. ‘She clearly knows something about what happened.’

‘No,’ JJ tells him firmly. ‘No way. Her mind is messed up enough as it is.’

‘If it helps us find Reid...’

‘That’s the thing,’ she argues. ‘It’s not going to help us find Reid. It’s going to help us find out who _made_ Reid, but that’s only useful if he finds out too. We’re making a big assumption on thinking that they want him because he’s a robot, and not for some other fucked up reason.’ Her voice is heated, her eyes fiery, the kind of persona that is absolutely nothing like the JJ that Morgan knows. She has passion, but it’s rarely fuelled by anger. It just drives home how stressed out they all are, even if they’re trying like hell not to show it.

He scarfs down his sandwich when it comes, and even with the fries and shake, it doesn’t even hit the side. The wolfish hunger hits when he’s stressed which recently, seems like almost every single day.

‘You want to grab something to go as well?’ Emily asks, an eyebrow raised.  She’s barely touched her own sandwich, and after a moment of consideration, slides it across to him. ‘I can last a little bit longer on just the blood.’

‘Providing our interview with William Reid doesn’t turn into a massacre,’ he points out, not accepting the offer just yet.

‘When you’re running away from people that are trying to kill you, you don’t always have time to stop for a meal,’ she says. ‘I can survive a couple of hours.’ With a frown, she adds. ‘Is the interview _likely _to turn into a massacre?’

Morgan gives a grimace. ‘Knowing our luck, there are assassins waiting to kill us as we step through the front door.’

‘Well, at least we won’t be hungry if we’re dead.’ Considering how many near death experiences they’ve had over the years, the words aren’t exactly comforting. Still, he takes the proffered sandwich and makes short work of it – not quite half a dozen steaks, but he doesn’t have any distracting hunger pangs either.

‘William Reid’s office is just a few blocks from here,’ JJ notes, looking at the address Garcia had given them.

‘You really think he knows something?’ Emily asks.

Morgan shrugs. ‘Let’s go find out.’


	30. Chapter 30

Chapter Thirty

The lobby of William Reid’s building is very, very different to that of the Capgras institution. The secretary is helpful, if a little wide-eyed, when they express their interest in talking to William Reid. ‘I’ll send a message up,’ she tells them with a smile. Security protocols prevent them from simply just going up there and talking to him without assistance, which is a pity, because it would have looked a hell of a lot more intimidating.

The place is uncomfortable, though, if in a very different way. As both an FBI agent, and a werewolf, Morgan has learned how to deal with enclosed spaces, but this one is just a little too polished, a little too unnatural for his tastes. Magic hums in the air, adding to his unease; none of them have the sensory abilities of a sorcerer. Isolating individual spells is next to impossible, and Morgan would really rather not get himself turned into a toad by an oversensitive security system.

‘What do you think?’ he murmurs to JJ under his breath. Emily’s off to the side, staring up at some ridiculously intricate sculpture that hangs from the ceiling.

‘We could get a warrant to examine Diana Reid’s mind scans,’ she says, which isn’t exactly the kind of answer that he had been expecting. ‘Samson did mention that there was information that could be useful to us.’ There’s fear in her voice, which makes him think that she is getting some really bad vibes about this place. He trusts her vibes over his own discomfort any day.

‘You really think this place is that bad?’

She shakes her head. ‘Not this place. I’m getting a really bad feeling about the whole damn situation. If it weren’t for Reid, I’d suggest we had this whole case off to another team and wash our hands of it.’

Morgan is a little startled by the declaration; JJ is more dedicated than any member of the team, perhaps save Hotch. She’s the one that’s there until late at night, sifting through cases. Every single one of those cases, she takes to heart, and it is not like her at all to consider just dropping one, even if it is dangerous. The danger, they’ve learned to live with.

There’s a loud _ding_ and a man in a tailored suit steps out of the elevator. The sound of his shoes against the marble floor echoes in the expansive lobby. ‘Agents,’ he greets them, as steps over to rejoin the group. ‘My name is Alvin Gibson; I’m the Public Relations manager for Alchemic Research and Engineering.’

‘Does this mean you don’t want us talking to William Reid?’ Morgan frowns. Gibson gave a short laugh that held absolutely no humor at all.

‘That’s not the case, Agent Morgan. I simply ask that any interview be conducted in my presence.’

‘With all due respect, Mr. Gibson,’ Emily speaks up. ‘If Mr. Reid has information, then we need to know, regardless of how poorly it reflects against your company.’

Gibson gives a slight hesitation – one that might have been missed by anyone that’s not trained to detect it. He knows something, even if he isn’t willing to let on. ‘This is just procedure, Agent Prentiss. I wouldn’t want to interfere in an ongoing investigation. However, I would ask that you switch off any cell phones or other technology; we have some very sensitive work in development’ He leads them back towards the elevators, and Morgan finds himself dropping back into step beside his colleagues, digging a hand into his pocket to switch off his cell.

‘We didn’t introduce ourselves, but he still managed to call us by name,’ he whispered, hoping like hell that there were psychic dampeners here, too. ‘You think he’s been waiting for this?’

‘That could mean that William Reid isn’t just involved personally.’

‘Who better than an engineer to design a robot?’ Emily muses. ‘“Sensitive work” is pretty vague.’

They step inside the elevator, and the door closes.

Alvin Gibson smiles.

**…**

Hotch’s meeting with the Deputy Director had lasted almost two hours, as questions were asked, answered, queried upon, etcetera. He knows that having two cases that are so personally connected to the team reflect poorly on him as a leader, but right now, he doesn’t care. He’d just wanted to get _back_ to work.

As Rossi had predicted, though, exhaustion had overtaken him, and he’d allowed himself a short nap on the sofa in his office.

He wakes, and it’s late afternoon. He makes a note to kick Rossi’s ass for not waking him earlier like he’d asked. Every second they spend doing something else is a second that Elle Greenaway is still out in the world.

They’d decided that Elle is most likely in an amnesiac state, relying on her unconscious mind to guide her; instincts, fears, procedural memory. She’ll go where she feels safe, do what feels safe. Returning to the conference room, he puts a call through to Garcia.

‘_The Mighty Hotchner! How may I assist you on this day of…dayness!’_

He frowns. ‘Is everything okay there, Garcia?’

‘_Absotivitly. The three amigos are on the trail, and I found JJ’s stash of jelly beans._’

Hotch almost groans. Garcia and sugar do not mix well. She’s buzzing so hard, he thinks she might explode over the phone line. He’s not sure how he’d explain that in paperwork.

‘Garcia, I need you to give me every single address of anywhere that Elle Greenaway has ever lived; any place in her file that could be used as some kind of sanctuary.’ He’ll have to call her family as well; see if any of them have seen or heard anything. It’s not a call he’s looking forward to. He knows about the merits of letting the past stay buried.

As soon as this is over, he’s taking the team off rotation. After everything that’s happened, they all need a vacation. He’s not going to let any of them come in for anything short of a civil war, but considering the events of the last couple of weeks, that’s an increasingly likely possibility. The new case means that he hasn’t been as aware of the consequences as he would have liked, but all he needs to do is turn on the T.V. to see the reports of increased vampire/werewolf violence.

‘_Alrighty, Lord of the Dance – I have sent the first batch of addresses to yonder telephone, and expect more as I get them. If I accidentally send you something about Mr. Geppetto, it was supposed to go to Morgan._’

Hotch raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t ask questions; he trusts in Morgan’s ability to lead, to the point where if anything happens to him, the younger man is the one who will step into place, even if he doesn’t know it yet.

He hangs up the phone, and stares down at the list of addresses. In all likelihood, he and Dave aren’t going to be the only ones looking.

Things could get interesting.


	31. Chapter 31

Chapter Thirty-One

Hotch adjusts his Kevlar vest, using the meter on his watch to check that all his shields are running at full capacity. After what had happened at the crime scene with Rossi, Prentiss and Agent Todd, he isn’t taking any chances. They have a fairy vanguard, as well as a full Tactical Team (vampires and wizards, mostly, all of whom have been trained to take the strongest of magical attacks). Though, if Anath’s Circle are as powerful as Rossi says they are, even that might not be enough.

The leader of the vanguard – Commander Von Straff – zooms around his head. The tiny creature is wearing a bodysuit made out of a ridiculously thin kind of spandex, which apparently makes them more aerodynamic. Some fairies are so fast, so quiet, that they can get in and out of a target location without anyone noticing. Ninja fairies, Garcia calls them. In some cases, they’re too stealthy for the alarms as well, to the point where there are several security companies that specialize in “fairy-proofing.”

‘Scans are showing up empty,’ the Von Straff says, gesturing towards the bay of screens in the back of the van. They’re two blocks away from the house, to prevent some sort of suspicion, but then, there’s a chance that the entire neighborhood might be trip-wired with alarms. ‘There’s magical energy interfering, though, so there might still be someone inside. That’s what my team is here for. The three of us can be in and out in under a minute, with a detailed profile of the state of the building.’ The magical interference is just a side effect of the world that they live in – it’s a residential neighborhood, but magic isn’t isolated to evil cults and federal governments. Technically speaking, it’s a strictly governed field, but that doesn’t stop some people from using an extra burst of energy to make their clothes dry faster.

Hotch nods. He’s worked with vanguards before; they’ve prevented a good many ambushes. Of course, they can’t always get in, which is what happened the last time they’d gone against Anath’s Circle. Hotch is not keen to repeat the experience, especially considering the fact that the only reason they’re actually here right now is because of that day.

Less than two minutes later, Von Straff returns. ‘Single female inside – asleep. No sign of any magical countermeasures. Your tactical entry should go unhindered.’

Hotch stands, drawing his weapon. Just because the entry will go unhindered doesn’t mean that their raid won’t go bottoms up. Anath’s Circle are not known for their compassion.

With a nod to Von Straff, Hotch steps out of the back of the van, and slides into the front seat. Rossi’s at the wheel, going over the case file.

‘Something wrong?’ Hotch asks, frowning. They’ve gone over half a dozen contingencies, but sometimes Rossi still keeps things from him.

‘No,’ Rossi replies, and Hotch doesn’t need to be psychic to know that he’s telling the truth. ‘It’s just…guilt, you know?’

Hotch nods, his mouth narrowed in a thin-lipped grimace. He knows. A day doesn’t go by where he forgets any single horrific thing that has happened under his command. By the Fallen, he knows. Elle and Reid are only the beginning.

They drive towards the house, the tactical team following. To anyone looking out the windows, the vans are something that would fit in in this normal, suburban neighborhood. To a psychic, or to anyone else who might be able to detect the serious power levels emanating from the vehicles, it’s another story.

Really, there’s only so much they can do. Sometimes, the bad guys are just plain stronger. That’s the reason why “federal agent” is ridiculously high on the list of World’s Most Dangerous Jobs – right below “werewolf wrangler.”

‘Orange light on the target,’ Hotch informs the tactical team, as they prepare themselves to enter the house. ‘We’d like to avoid a firefight if possible – she’s a former agent experiencing a fugue state, and I want her alive.’

Of course, Aaron Hotchner understands the gravity of his own words. Elle Greenaway might not be in a fugue state anymore. She might remember every single thing about her life, about the FBI, about her friends, and she might be exacting vigilante justice anyway.

It’s a horrifying thought.

Then, just as horrifying, is the idea that they might not be able to bring her back from the edge.

The door gets kicked in, and Hotch has his gun out, his finger resting against the trigger guard. He follows the map Von Straff had laid out in his mind – solitary female, second door on the left of the hallway. There are photos on the wall of a happy family, and Hotch doesn’t even want to think about what had happened to make them leave.

He watches, as the woman gets to her feet, pulling out the gun from underneath her pillow. It’s Elle – of that, he has no doubt. Her hair is a little longer, and a little wilder, and the look in her eyes is one of both anger and fear.

‘Elle. Drop the gun,’ Hotch says, his voice steady. He doesn’t want to pull that trigger.

‘Who are you?’ she demands. ‘What do you want?’

‘My name is Aaron Hotchner,’ he tells her. ‘Do you remember me? I’m with the FBI.’

Elle falters slightly. It’s so slight, so imperceptible, that anyone else might not have noticed it. It tells Hotch that on some level, there’s something familiar about the situation to her.

‘What’s happening to me?’ she asks next, which is absolutely not the response he had expected.

He’s almost about to ask “What do you mean?” when he sees the red light pulsating at her fingertips. Magical saturation. That is not good. It happens sometimes, when a person is so bombarded with energy that they develop powers of their own. It’s what happened to JJ, just a few months ago, and apparently it had happened to Elle too. The difference is, JJ has been spending four nights out of every seven learning to control her new skills. In Elle, it’s been left unchecked.

‘We can help you,’ he replies, trying to look into her eyes. There’s an uncertainty in them now, as though she isn’t quite sure whether to shoot him, blast him, or trust him.

Hotch’s earpiece crackles. ‘_You’ve got incoming_,’ Von Straff’s voice says over the line. ‘_Half a dozen guys, red robes, and a really pissed off look on their face._’

Elle senses it too, and Hotch is hyperaware of the light that’s pulsating, spreading, like a beacon. She can’t control it. She’s trying – she’s probably been trying for a long time now. All three deaths the result of non-magical methods. Those are the moments of lucidity, where there’s some semblance of control.

‘Stay calm,’ Hotch says, speaking as much to the tactical team as he is to Elle. Beside him, Rossi starts to power up his staff. ‘I’m not going to let them hurt you.’ Really, it should be _we_ aren’t going to let them hurt you, but Aaron Hotchner has a personal stake in this one.

And it isn’t going to be pretty.


	32. Chapter 32

It’s mid afternoon when they hit Argadnel. The atmosphere hadn’t grown any more comfortable, by any definition of the word, but Reid had managed to get a little bit of sleep in along the way.

He remembers Argadnel so vividly, so clearly; the rust colored mountains that tower in the horizon, the winding road from Casimir, the dry desert heat, all snapshots in his mind. Of course, they’re not his snapshots. His memory is somebody else’s vacation photos, things that someone else had done.

Here, the heat is all consuming. Plants and animals adapt to survive, the same as anywhere. Xerophytes store water to stay alive, while phreatophytes grow long roots to reach the zone of saturation. Werewolves learn to live in populated cities, riding to work on crowded subways. Vampires drink the blood of donors. Wizards group together, drawing their strength from numbers.

Humans persevere.

If he does make it out of this alive, what does the future hold? He’s seen droids tossed away like trash, because there’s a new model out on the market. It doesn’t matter that he’s different; underneath the skin (it looks, it feels so real) he’s just metal.

Metal doesn’t adapt. Doesn’t grow, doesn’t evolve.

Metal rusts.

In the end, nature laughs last, and Spencer Reid is not natural.

The endless plains pass beside them, skyscrapers growing ever closer as they keep driving. They aren’t entering the city just yet, though – the Capgras Institution is outside the city limits. The banishing of the mad. The casting out of something because they don’t understand it. Because they fear it. Reid understands that feeling all too well; he thought that he’d found friendship, found family in the team.

He was wrong.

 ‘Are we here?’ asks Riley, from the front passenger’s seat. Apparently Austin had taken the wheel sometime while he was asleep. ‘Fucking finally.’ He gives a long, protracted sigh, as if the entire thing is Reid’s fault.

The parking lot is mostly empty, employee vehicles no doubt filling it for the most part. Reid stretches as he exits the car. His muscles feel blood-starved, but surely that’s just a misconception; he has no muscles, no blood. Just wire and coolant.

Today, he comes with a new burden on his shoulders.

He has visited his mother before, but his mind is unable to distinguish between reality and this fabricated version that’s running through his mind, like some broken record.

He’s aware of Riley tucking a gun into the back of his jeans, and his body tenses. Considering they’re only there to talk to his mother, there’s unlikely to be any resistance from the doctors, but the presence of a weapon could turn things sour very quickly.

‘They have security protocols,’ he informs Riley, who gives him a look. ‘Trust me, things will go much more smoothly if you leave that in the car.’

‘It’s a mental institution, Ri,’ Austin says, in an exasperated tone. ‘I’m pretty sure anyone that would want to actually hurt you would be behind bulletproof glass.’ In a soft tone, she adds. ‘_Everyone _except_ me_.’

Riley gives a disbelieving scoff, but he doesn’t argue, tossing the gun into the glove compartment before relocking the car.

‘Let me take the lead,’ Reid says authoritatively. ‘Your aggressive behavior won’t do us any favors.’ It’s something of a bold move, judging by the look on Austin’s face, but again, Riley doesn’t argue. For a split second, Reid is almost suspicious, but then, Riley is no idiot – it might be risky, but it’s also his best chance of getting what he wants. He’s evidently not particularly worried about Reid trying to escape, but that’s mostly because Reid doesn’t _want_ to escape. He’s seen a dozen ways out, minimum, but the way out is also the way of ignorance.

The thing about being a genius is you can’t _not_ know things. The thirst for knowledge is unbearable. It would be so nice to pretend that he had never heard those fateful words, that he had remained oblivious. Things would have gone on, the same as they always had.

But that’s not who he is.

He’s not really sure _who_ he is anymore.

Reid takes the lead into the reception area of the building, and there’s a terrible silence hanging in the air. Something’s wrong.

He gestures for Austin and Riley to stay back, and walks over to the receptionist’s desk. Her eyes widen at the sight of him, and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out she knows who he is.

‘You know who I am?’ He asks the question anyway, and she gives a nod.

‘Your friends – they were here earlier today looking for you.’

He frowns, at first unsure as to who she’s referring to, but then he remembers the team. His “friends.”

Traitors, all of them.

_Et tu, Brute?_

_But if they’re looking for you; surely they care?_ a second voice says, and Reid can’t quite ignore it.

‘I need to see her,’ he says, but in his mind, it sounds more like a plea. A plea for the truth.

‘I’ll…I’ll call Doctor Samson.’

Reid frowns. ‘I thought Doctor Augustine was her primary psychiatrist?’

‘He is – Doctor Samson is responsible for more…administrative matters.’ Reid isn’t quite sure what “administrative matters” the receptionist is referring to, but her tone of voice is such that he’s fairly sure it’s a little more serious than mere paperwork.

Doctor Samson is tall, with dark hair and a commanding presence. The look on his face is nothing short of surprised. ‘Mr. Reid. I didn’t expect to see you again.’

‘On the contrary, Doctor – If my suspicions are correct, then we’re technically meeting for the first time.’ Samson doesn’t deny the accusation, but he doesn’t say anything else, either. ‘I’d like to speak to Diana Reid, please.’

‘Mr. Reid, I-’

‘_Doctor_ Reid,’ Reid corrects. ‘Or, failing that, Special Agent Reid, though I can’t imagine that will be the case for very much longer.’

‘Doctor Reid, your mother has had a very trying day – I don’t think it would be wise to speak to her in this state.’

‘She’s not my mother,’ Reid counters. ‘And it is imperative that I talk to her – immediately.’

‘Of course,’ Samson replies, with a tight-lipped smile. ‘However, I cannot guarantee that she will be in any state to answer your questions.’

There are two particular questions that Reid would like to ask. “How?” is one of them, but the more important one is “Why?”

_Why did you do this to me?_

Samson calls ahead to have Diana moved to one of the meeting rooms, and sets off down one of the stark, white hallways. Samson hesitates as Riley and Austin follow, but Reid cuts him off with a sharp, ‘They’re with me.’ The doctor doesn’t seem particularly pleased by the development, but he doesn’t argue; Spencer has always had a way of making people do what he wants them to do. There’s just something about a genius that they find so ridiculously intimidating.

The “meeting room” seems more like and interrogation room when Reid sees it, an association that’s compounded by the one-way mirror, and the observation room that Samson excuses himself to. Reid gestures for Austin and Riley to follow him, and both are a little unsure, but for different reasons.

‘Are you sure you’ll be okay in there?’ Austin asks. Reid gives her a short but certain nod.

‘I want to be in there too,’ Riley argues, and Reid flatly refuses.

‘No. This is going to be hard enough without an untrained professional trying to interfere. You want answers – you want to save your brother – then you trust me to get them for you.’ Riley reluctantly follows Samson and Austin into the observation room, and Reid turns towards the door.

He’s sweating.

He’s nervous, and he’s sweating.

It should be physiologically impossible, but it’s not.

With a deep breath, he steps into the room, and Diana Reid has an immediate negative reaction. ‘No! No! You weren’t supposed to come! They were supposed to keep you away!’

He’s not quite sure whether “they” is the hospital staff, or someone else entirely, but the fact that she’s so against his presence suggests that she definitely does know something.

‘Diana…Mom…I’m not upset at you for what you did…’ It hurts to lie so much, but he has to, otherwise this isn’t going to work. ‘I just…I need to know why you did it.’

She stares at him, wild-eyed, but she doesn’t scream, and she doesn’t try to escape. That’s something. ‘You’re not like him. He’s not like you…My boy, my Spencer…I loved him so much, and then he went away. I couldn’t live without him – he’s the one that kept the voices at bay. You…you keep your distance because you’re afraid.’

Reid bites his lip. ‘I’m not afraid of you.’

‘No.’ She shakes her head. ‘You’re afraid of what the future holds. But you don’t have to worry about that – you’re…you’re perfect.’

He shakes his head. ‘I’m not…you know I’m not.’

She smiles. ‘That doesn’t matter – a mother’s son is always perfect.’

He feels…tears. They’re strange to him now, foreign. The toaster doesn’t cry – why should a robot? ‘I’m not your son,’ he chokes out.

‘Yes you are,’ she replies. ‘No matter what, you will always be my son, and you will always be Spencer Reid. Don’t you see – you’re not like the rest of them. The body is just a piece of hardware, but your mind is more than that of any droid. Your mind is human.’

He starts to sob, unable to control himself. Diana – no, his mother – reaches over, and lays a hand on top of his. ‘If you want to understand…There’s still one person you need to see, Spencer.’

He stares at her, uncertain.

‘You need to see Mister Geppetto – you need to see the man that made you.’


	33. Chapter 33

The elevator ride is conducted in silence; JJ doubts that anyone really trusts Alvin Gibson. “Public Relations” has become a term synonymous with “getting rid of trash.” Sometimes that means sweeping stuff under the rug, sometimes it means a silenced gun in a dark alleyway.

There are psychic dampeners up, which is not surprising in the least; engineering can be a cutthroat business, and product designs are something that not even the most trusting of executive officers would make available to their competitors. Find a way to dampen powers for a certain radius, and you’ve made millions. Have it stolen by the enemy, and you’ve lost everything.

There are some wizards – powerful wizards – that already have that power, but they aren’t exactly the kind to share secrets that could bring about their downfall.

The floor that Gibson takes them to is just as impressive as the lobby; everything about it, from the lush green plants in the corner of the reception area, to the polished wooden desk, to the framed architectural prints on the wall scream “respected business.” Unsurprising – according to Garcia’s record search, Alchemic Research and Engineering are at the head of their field.

JJ doesn’t get much of a chance to examine anything in great detail, though; they don’t linger in the lobby, instead moving off to the left. Dozens of cubicles are spread out over the floor, a couple of employees looking up at their entrance. It’s an eclectic mix; humans, vampires, even a couple of fairies who seem comically out of place at their full-sized desks.

William Reid isn’t in here – he’s in one of the offices that border the bullpen. Important, but not too important.

Morgan enters first, establishing the air of authority that a team leader commands. No matter how much he resists authority, he’s drawn to it, like a moth to flame. She’s not even sure he really realizes it.

William Reid is skinny, with messy hair; he looks likes Spencer, only a little less innocent, a little more cutthroat. He stares at them with hard eyes, and JJ can feel the power surging through him. Powerful, yes, but still mid-level in the grand scheme of things.

‘Mr. Reid – I’m Agent Morgan, this is Agent Prentiss and Agent Jareau. We’d like to ask you a few questions about your son.’

William blinks. ‘My son is dead,’ he says, without skipping a beat. Even with the psychic dampeners, JJ can tell that he’s hiding something from them. It pulsates off him, like a horrible stench.

‘Your wife commissioned an android copy of your son,’ Morgan clarifies. ‘And we think you had something to do with it.’

‘Unless you were unaware, my wife and I separated a very long time ago; if she wanted help commissioning an android, she wouldn’t have come to me.’

‘I don’t see how any of this is relevant,’ Gibson remarks. ‘Even if Mr. Reid had some hand in building this android, that’s no crime.’

‘It is if he was abducted,’ Emily points out.

Gibson gives a laugh. It’s one of the more chilling things that JJ has ever heard. ‘Is it even possible to “abduct” a droid? Surely such an act would be theft, if anything.’

The surge of anger that pulses through Morgan is so strong that JJ feels it crashing into her, like waves against a rocky shore.

‘From what I’ve seen so far, Mr. Gibson, Spencer Reid was more human than you will _ever_ be.’

Gibson seems unperturbed by the thinly veiled insult, and both JJ and Emily give Morgan a look. As upset as they are about the situation, getting kicked out of the building will do nothing in helping them find Reid.

‘Mr. Reid,’ JJ says in a soft voice. ‘We aren’t interested in persecuting you for any crime – we’re just looking for Spencer.’ It occurs to her then that_ he_ could be responsible for Reid’s disappearance, and they’re all about to get tossed into a vat of acid, but it’s only a fleeting thought.

The world changes in a flash.

JJ finds herself suddenly unable to breathe, as though all the oxygen has been sucked out of the room. She’s fairly sure that such an event isn’t physically possible, but what she understands of physics isn’t a great deal, and she’s fairly sure that there’s no spell that can really do something like that.

In any case, it seems to be a localized event – her vision is blurring, and the world is spinning. She drops to her knees, vaguely aware of her name being called out. Yelled, screamed. Everything’s tinted with a sickening shade of orange.

She’s somewhere else, now – not in William Reid’s office, but rather a workshop of some kind. There’s a computer in one corner of the room, and droids in various stages of completion sitting on the benches. Emily and Morgan are there, standing side by side, both with their guns drawn.

On the other side, there are three people. Two of them – a man and a woman (siblings, maybe?) JJ doesn’t recognize. The third one is Reid.

It’s like a vision, but at the same time it’s not. This isn’t happening – hasn’t happened yet. This is what the future holds. She’s never had a pre-cognitive flash before, but it feels as though someone’s taken a blender to her stomach.

‘_Reid,_’ Morgan says. ‘_Reid, what are you doing, man?_’

‘_I need to know,_’ he says, giving a desperate look towards the man in the corner– the man that JJ is only just now noticing. He’s in his early fifties, wearing glasses. His brown hair is thinning, bald spot reflecting the light from above. _Is this Mister Geppetto?_ _Is this the man they’ve come looking for? _The other man – the younger one – has a gun, pointed at Geppetto.

‘_I need you to make another one,’_ he says.

Geppetto smiles. ‘_I’m sorry – he’s one of a kind._’

‘_Don’t fuck with me, old man. You built a self aware droid, capable of learning. Don’t tell me you didn’t write that shit down._’

‘_I can’t help you._’

The man moves the gun towards Reid instead. ‘_I don’t think you’d like it very much if I destroyed your masterwork then, would you?_’

‘_Riley, what the fuck?_’ The woman raises her gun towards the man. ‘_No killing. You promised not to hurt anyone_.’

‘_I think it’s a little late for that, don’t you?_’__

Bullets pierce the air, four, at least. This world, this vision starts to fade, and while she can hear the bodies fall, she can’t see them.

All she does see is the blood.


	34. Chapter 34

Both Emily and Morgan seem to move towards JJ simultaneously, hyperfast reflexes managed to catch her before she falls forward entirely. Her eyes are rolled back in her head, and she makes an incessant humming sound.

‘What’s happening?’ Emily demands of Morgan, admittedly, in a more aggressive tone than was necessary for the situation. She can hear JJ’s heart, beating so fast that it pounds in Emily’s ears, seemingly seconds away from exploding.

‘I don’t know.’ Morgan shakes his head, laying a hand across JJ’s cheek. ‘She’s heating up – she’s had visions before, but never like this.’

‘The psychic dampeners should suppress visions,’ Gibson provides, and Emily gives him a look.

‘Call an ambulance,’ she demands. ‘Call your medical staff, I don’t care – just do something useful.’

‘No.’

It’s JJ’s voice, croaky, but coherent. She opens her eyes, and wriggles her way out of Morgan’s grip. ‘No, I’m fine. I just…It’s been a long day.’

‘Did you see something?’ Morgan presses, as William Reid passes over a glass of water from the jug on his desk. JJ stares at the sorcerer.

‘Where is he?’ she asks. ‘Where is Geppetto?’

William frowns. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ There’s no lie in his voice. Either this “Geppetto” goes by a different name, or William Reid really doesn’t know anything about Geppetto. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t know anything, though; Geppetto could be a delusion formulated by Diana’s mind. Emily’s heard about the correlations between psychic powers and mental disorders later in life. There’s some research into the area, in the same way they research heredity, and drug use, and environmental factors.

The voices in the head don’t ever really go away. They just change form. No-one is exempt from the demons.

In some ways it’s worse, but in some ways it seems so much better.

‘Your company – is there a droid development department?’ Morgan asks, with a slight growl to his voice. There’s no way he would ever consider shifting in a building like this, even if they didn’t have preventative measures to stop it, but the threat is there just the same. Intimidation, at its most primal. A vampire will show its fangs, a sorcerer will ball magic into their fingertips, a fairy will usually just try and talk their way out of the situation.

William Reid looks towards Gibson, hesitating, which is all the answer they need.

‘We can get a warrant,’ Emily suggests, to which William shakes his head.

‘No, I…’ He looks towards Gibson. ‘I need to tell them.’

‘We can’t protect you from prosecution if you choose that path, Mr. Reid.’

‘The only crime being committed so far is obstruction of justice,’ Emily commented wryly. Not strictly true, but she didn’t exactly want to go into details.

‘Our cybernetics expert is a man named Dr. Gideon,’ William supplied. ‘He…he was looking for a brain to utilize for one of his experiments, and Spencer had left his organs to scientific research…’ He trails off, and none of them need to be psychic to know he’s implying.

‘Who’s Mr. Geppetto, then?’ Morgan asks. ‘Your wife – Diana – she gave us that name.’

William Reid shook his head. ‘My wife…I loved her, but I couldn’t handle her delusions. I was weak. Somehow, she found out what I was doing, and she came to me, but…Geppetto must have been the name her mind made up – she studied literature, before she…’

He shakes his head sadly, and Emily pities him, if not for the distinct air of patheticness that he gives off; his wife gets sick, and he abandons her. Who knows how their son could have turned out if he’d stayed. People don’t know the importance of a strong family until it breaks down, crumbles around them. Emily herself can attest to that; her own mother has always been there, just not in the way a mother should be.

Being there to stab you in the back is hardly supporting.

‘We’d like to speak to Dr. Gideon, then,’ Morgan tells Gibson, and it’s more demand than request. Gideon will be able to give them further insight into Reid’s mental state, into how he thinks, how he feels.

It’s a little different to profiling criminals. Robots don’t commit crime – it’s forbidden by their programming. It’s a harsh and bitter truth that even if they _could_ commit crime, it would be nothing compared to the atrocities of humans, of vampires, of werewolves. Some people like to think of their species as flawless, as perfect specimens, but that’s the biggest fucking misnomer that Emily has ever heard.

Reid…well, she doesn’t know him very well, and she doubts that he’s perfect, but he’s a damn sight nicer than a lot of other people who she’s crossed paths with in her life, and his nature isn’t something she would have been able to pick, if not for that distinct lack of heartbeat.

The word “human” hasn’t really meant anything in a long time.

Not since the days of all.

Now? Well…now everyone’s just a little bit inhuman.

They take to the elevator again, this time, a deadly silence hanging in the air. Cities have risen and fallen in this silence, creatures have stepped out of the primordial sludge on new limbs. A ball of flaming rock crashes from the heavens, and everything is different. _Menjai’don ­­_\- the tree that falls. The fall of man.

They’re always falling.

Her mother’s face flashes in her mind, her fist closing around an imaginary stake.

The more things change, the more they stay the same.


	35. Chapter 35

The sheer amount of energy in such a small radius makes the air thick with magic. All sorcerers learn to differentiate between different types of magic at a young age; psychic energy feels different from fire energy feels different from kinetic energy. There is no way, however, to differentiate good magic from evil magic, just by feeling, in the same way that sometimes good and evil are very blurred concepts. Sometimes there’s a sense of foreboding – a “Spidey-sense,” some people call it, but that’s less about energy, and more about latent psychic ability.

There’s so much power here, David Rossi can’t tell what belongs to who – there’s him, there’re the tactical guys, and then there’s Elle. The look on her face is a mixture of anger, fear and confusion. He didn’t – _doesn’t_ – know Elle all that well. He’d returned to the BAU not long after she’d started there, and he’s not usually one to join Morgan and whoever he manages to convince on the nights out on the town. Alcohol and magic do not mix very well; every day, he sees arrest reports of people Spelling Under the Influence. It’s a pity that magic is something they can’t exactly license.

‘_They’re blasting their way in through the front_,’ Von Straff says over the radio.

‘Take her out through the back door,’ Hotch tells Rossi. ‘I’m staying with the tactical team.’

Rossi raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t argue. Hotch might be human, but he’s also got tactical experience, and quite frankly, it’s his own decision if he wants to risk his life to the evil cult.

‘Come with me,’ he directs Elle, who looks at him with a healthy amount of suspicion. Unsurprising, really – she hadn’t been the most trusting of people _before_ the amnesia incident. It must be ten times worse now, not knowing who she is – who _anyone_ is.

He stops, and looks into her eyes. ‘You can trust me.’

She’s uncertain, still, but she follows him anyway, and for that he’s grateful. Anath’s Circle will be hard enough to deal with without bringing trust issues into the equation. Either way, he has his staff powered up, just in case leaving through the back door isn’t as good an escape plan as they’d hoped.

When this is over, Rossi’s going to have Garcia bring Anath’s Circle to the ground via more technological means. He doesn’t care how powerful they are – they are seriously starting to piss him off. There’s a brief thought that when this is over, they might all be dead, but he doesn’t let that thought linger.

There are more important things to worry about.

**…**

Hotch stands at the head of the tactical team, facing off against the six sorcerers clothed in dark red robes.

Cults are a major pain in the ass.

Not only are they difficult to profile properly, but the group mentality is far more dangerous than any one unsub. Every single day, he can’t help but think the job would be so much easier if there were no sorcerers, no vampires, no werewolves. Of course, preternatural creatures didn’t have a monopoly on evil; they’d profiled dozens of humans over the years, too.

‘Put your staffs down,’ Hotch commands. ‘You are interfering in the course of a federal investigation.’

‘Where is the murderer?’ one of the sorcerers asks. His face is hooded, cast in shadow. He might well be the owner of the general store down the street, or a barber, or a school teacher. Belonging to a Magical Order isn’t necessarily life consuming, though some people choose to approach it that way.

‘Drop the staffs!’ Hotch repeats, his finger starting to squeeze against the trigger. They show no signs of cooperation, and he gets the feeling that this is about to turn into a firefight. Literally.

The first sorcerer moves his staff into an offensive position, and Hotch pulls the trigger. Two to the chest. Enough to give even a vampire pause, but it doesn’t stop this wizard. This wizard has a shield up – strong enough that nothing outside of a stronger spell will break through it. Considering that the bullets had been spelled by some of the best sorcerers in the district, it must be a pretty strong shield.

A burst of energy shoots from the staff, and Hotch tries to dodge it, but it’s as though he’s rooted to the ground. He can’t think, can’t move – like some force has consumed him. The blue ball of light hits him square in the chest, and all the breath in his lungs rushes out as he drops to his knees.

_I’m sorry, JJ_, is the last thought in his mind as he blacks out.

**…**

Elle Greenaway stops. She turns to the man (what’s his name? She knows his face, but the name is on the tip of her tongue, and for the life of her, she can’t remember it) and tells him, ‘We need to go back inside.’

He frowns. ‘Something’s wrong…’ he says, and she wants to grab him by the shoulders and shake him. _Didn’t he feel it? Didn’t he see it? A star, fading away in the night._

‘They’re too powerful,’ she tells him. ‘We need to take out the leader – he’s their power hub.’

There’s a flash inside her mind.

She’s been here before.

Not _here,_ specifically, but she’s been…she knows this.

There’s a man (a wolf?) in her mind and he’s grinning. ‘_Let’s go take these guys down_.’ He bumps her fist, and it’s like that bump is knocking down a wall that’s been in so place for so long, a wall that’s so high that she’s not even really sure what’s on the other side anymore.

There’s another man (a sorcerer) and it’s the one that’s standing right beside her. ‘_My name is David Rossi,_’ he says. ‘_Welcome to the BAU._’

‘Rossi…’ The name feels strange on her lips, and yet so right. She feels something else – _guilt_. There’s blood on her hands. She thrusts the knife in, over and over again, feeling the magic exploding inside her, and yet she doesn’t – she _can’t_ – release it.

‘You remember?’ he asks sharply, a hand on her shoulder.

She puts a hand to her head. The pain is agonizing; a million needles in her skull, as each memory pushes its way in, reminds her of all the things that she’s done. It’s simultaneously liberating and horrifying.

‘Hotch needs us,’ she tells him, even though she isn’t quite sure how she knows that. ‘It’s too much for him.’

‘Are you sure you’re up for this?’

She doesn’t answer, rushing back into the house. They’re here for _her_. People are dying because of _her._

Magic pools at her fingertips.

She remembers.

She remembers everything.

There’s a door unlocked in her mind, and she knows what she needs to do.

Rossi clicks onto what she’s about to do. ‘Controlled bursts,’ he says, and she can feel him getting ready to move into attack position. His magic is strong, but not as strong as hers. ‘You use too much, and you’ll burn out.’

Elle ignores him.

She owes the team that much.


	36. Chapter 36

Dr. Gideon’s workshop is half a dozen floors below William Reid’s office. As far as JJ can tell, the floor is dedicated to the more “hands on” aspects of research and engineering. JJ looks on curiously as an engineer works on a scale model skyscraper, magic in its very foundations. Eyes lift in curiosity as they walk through; evidently FBI agents aren’t exactly a frequent visitor.

Interestingly, though, none of the employees are working on projects that could be defined as particularly “robotic.” In any case, they’re led through this area, into another hallway. At the end of the hallway, there’s a door.

Just a door.

It’s so unassuming, and yet at the same time, ridiculously foreboding.

‘Dr. Gideon is responsible for all the droids that come out of AR&amp;E,’ Gibson explains.

‘Isn’t that a lot of work for just one man?’ Morgan queries.

There’s a short silence before an answer comes, but it’s William that answers. ‘Technology…it waxes and wanes – for a long time, we were reliant on magic, but humans don’t particularly like that – they fought to keep their cars powered by gasoline, their microchips, their batteries. We still use those, of course, but it’s in conjunction with magical energy.’

‘So what’s changed?’

‘Humans are dying out.’ JJ’s half surprised to find that it’s Emily who’d replied. ‘Four hundred years ago, things were about fifty-fifty. Nowadays, you’re hard-pressed to see more than a dozen humans a day. In thirty years…’

William nods in confirmation. ‘There were preliminary attempts at creating a droid based on magical principles, but…it didn’t work out.’

‘What happened?’

‘Usually, when someone commissions a droid, it’s because they want someone who will follow orders without question. But these droid had hopes, dreams - opinions. We didn’t think that Artificial Intelligence is something that we’d find through magical means,’

‘And that’s what Spencer is?’

‘That’s what Spencer is.’

JJ looks towards the door. She blinks, and fleetingly sees the blood splattered across her mind’s eye. The future? Or just another nightmare?

 

‘They’re coming,’ she says, eyes unfocusing. The world becomes a blur, and the words that come out of her mouth she has no control over. ‘I see it…Spencer and two others.’

Morgan turns towards her, eyes narrowed. ‘What did you see?’

She shakes her head. ‘Blood.’ An intake of breath. ‘He’s got a gun. Be careful. All he wants to do is please his mother, but it’s too late for that.’

‘Who’s got a gun? Reid?’

‘No…Not Reid. He’s upset – he feels betrayed – but he still cares. Even if he won’t admit it.’ Her whole body jerks as she is pulled from the reverie.

_Weird._

The visions, she could have dealt with – even visions of the future – but reading someone who isn’t even _there_ is something else altogether. Professor Pewter is going to have a field day when she tells him about this, right after he scolds her for not coming to him.

_Regret things later, JJ. Spencer needs you._

**...**

Spencer Reid flashes his badge at the front desk. There’s a wide smile on the receptionist’s faces, which falters slightly at the sight of the badge.

‘You’re here to join the other agents?’ she asks, a little unsure.

His heart – figuratively speaking – skips a beat. _Other agents?_ The team are here? The words pain him and yet delight him at the same time.

_They’re here. They _care.

There’s a cynical part of him that suggests that they’re here on  routine business that has nothing to do with him, but he tries to ignore it. He _has _to believe that they’re still his friends. Otherwise…Otherwise he doesn’t have anything else left.

He doesn’t answer straight away, but gives a small smile that the receptionist takes as confirmation. ‘They were here to question Mr. Reid, but it looks as though our PR Manager has taken them to the fifth floor to see Doctor Gideon.’

Reid’s mind is torn: Gideon is the name that his mother had given him. Geppetto, at first, but then she’d regained some sense of lucidity. Reid…that can only be his father. His _fake_ father.

He’s not so sure how to feel about that.

After all, William Reid had abandoned Spencer – the real Spencer – a long time ago. It seems very unlikely that he’d want to see such a pale imitation.

He’s almost surprised that the receptionist doesn’t ask any further questions, and doesn’t stop them as they walk towards the elevator bank. He’s more surprised than he should be when Riley pulls out his gun and checks the chamber.

‘What the hell are you doing?’ Austin hisses.

‘You heard her,’ he says. ‘The FBI are here.’

In some buildings, the security system would have detected the gun, and set off an alarm, but there’s been an upsurge in personal freedoms. Reid’s not entirely unsure that Riley wouldn’t start firing bullets the moment an alarm went off anyway. He needs to get this done as peacefully as possible.

‘I won’t shoot anyone unless I have to,’ Riley promises his sister, a promise that Reid doesn’t hold much faith in.

Riley tucks the gun in his palm, letting the sleeve of his jacket fall over it. They get a few looks as they walk through the workshop. Gideon isn’t in here. Reid isn’t sure how he knows, but he knows. He’s been here before, even if his conscious memory doesn’t have any recollection of it.

There’s a door at the end of the hallway.

‘In there,’ he breathes.

‘Let Reid go first,’ Austin tells Riley. The other man hesitates, but he doesn’t argue.

His hand is on the doorknob touches the doorknob, cold metal against skin.

Reid pushes the door open, and takes a step inside.

**…**

Everything stops.

In retrospect, it’s a mistake – a rookie mistake – to let Gideon stay so close to the door.

Reid pushes inside, and two people follow him. Morgan’s confused.

Reid had been _kidnapped_. Why is he cooperating?

_Did we hurt him that much?_

It’s like a knife to the heart. Spencer Reid is his best friend, robot or no. For so long, species hadn’t made a damn bit of difference.

Gibson and William Reid are both spooked by the sudden appearance, and moves his wrist to his mouth to call security when two gunshots pierce the air.

Morgan, JJ and Emily move as one, weapons out in a split second. Not quick enough to save Gibson or William, though, both of whom are losing blood at an alarming rate.

‘Reid,’ he says, exasperated, barely aware of the man and the woman, both armed. ‘Reid, what are you doing, man?’

‘I need to know,’ Reid says. He looks towards the corner of the room where Gideon sits. For his part, Gideon looks surprisingly calm for the situation, as though there isn’t a gun pointed at his face, as though that same gun hadn’t just killed two people.

‘I need you to make another one,’ the armed man says.

‘I’m sorry – he’s one of a kind.’ Morgan almost raises an eyebrow at that. From what Gibson and William had told them just outside, it wouldn’t be impossible to make another droid like Reid.

‘Don’t fuck with me, old man.’ He pushes the gun a little closer towards Gideon, and Morgan feels his own finger tightening on the trigger. ‘You built a self-aware droid, capable of learning. Don’t tell me you didn’t write that shit down.’

‘I can’t help you.’

The man gives a sigh, swinging the gun towards Reid, and Morgan’s so fucking tempted to pull the trigger right away, but he can’t. It’s too risky.

‘I don’t think you’d like it very much if I destroyed your masterwork then, would you?’

Apparently, Morgan isn’t the only one incensed by this suggestion. The woman turns against her partner. ‘Riley, what the fuck? No killing. You promised not to hurt anyone.’

Two dead already. It’s a little late for that. Those are the same words echoed by the man – _Riley_ – and Morgan swears that he’s going to shoot. Before he can, though, he sees a flash of blonde – _JJ?! _– diving towards Reid, pushing him out of the way.

Everything stops for just a single second, and then it’s all moving too fast. Bullets are flying, and two bodies hit the ground, deathly still.

Everything stops.


	37. Chapter 37

Blood.

The smell, the taste, it’s so overpowering that Emily can barely breathe. It had been okay with just two bodies, but now she can smell so much blood that she’s almost choking on it, four different hearts beating at four vastly different speeds.

‘JJ!’ Morgan calls out, and Emily has just enough sense of mind to pull herself out of that reveries. That tantalizing, tempting reverie. It would be so easy to let go of everything, to indulge.

There’s blood dripping from her arm, just above the elbow, but it barely even stings. Doesn’t even register. JJ’s not so lucky.

The psychic had tackled Reid out of the way, taking a bullet in the process. The heartbeat is slow…fading.

Emily and Morgan share a look, communicating without a single word. Morgan’s at JJ’s side in a second, and Emily goes for the man that had pulled the trigger. He’s strangely unresponsive, overcome, it seems, by the death of his partner. The bullet (whose bullet? Hers? Morgan’s?) had hit the woman in the heart. Her body’s limp, lifeless. Tension cut like a rubber band stretched too far.

‘Austin?’ he asks, voice a little disbelieving.

It’s half a second before Emily realizes that the man – Riley? – isn’t the only one staring. Reid is torn, eyes darting between JJ, Morgan’s hands pushing a wad of balled up gauze to her chest, and the other woman – Austin.

Her heart breaks for him just a little, as she remembers that his _father_ is lying there dead, as well, though he seems a little less broken up about that fact.

Reid looks towards Riley. ‘You killed her,’ he says. His voice is soft, calm, but at the same time it’s one of the most dangerous things that Emily has ever heard. She holds Riley’s wrists together with one hand, searching for her cuffs with the other, but she’s not entirely sure there’s going to be enough time before Reid crash-tackles them both to the ground.

‘Spencer.’ Dr. Gideon speaks, and Emily gives a half jump in surprise. She’d almost forgotten he was there. ‘This isn’t the way.’

‘She’d still be alive if it weren’t for him,’ Reid protests.

‘I know.’

Riley’s crying; loud, wet sobs that almost make her feel some kind of sympathy, but he’s just killed three people (one of them indirectly) and may well have killed a fourth. Gripping him by the cuffs, she turns to Morgan, who’s half soaked in JJ’s blood.

It smells like copper, and Emily can almost taste it on the back of her tongue.

‘How is she?’ Emily asks. She doesn’t really need to ask; she can still hear the heartbeat – not weak, but not strong, either.

‘Holding on,’ he says grimly.

‘I called an ambulance,’ Gideon provides, and Reid says nothing. There are tears in his eyes, though, and there’s no doubt that he’s upset – whether it’s because of Austin’s death, or because of the whole damn situation, it’s hard to tell.

Still.

Emily knows what betrayal’s like, and she doesn’t particularly blame him.

Backup accompanies the ambulance, and Emily passes off Riley to the Argadnel Police Department, who survey the scene with curiosity. She almost considers joining Morgan in the ambulance to accompany JJ to the hospital, but it’s probably not a good idea for her to be in a place with so many open wounds.

There’s still a bullet in her arm though, which a paramedic removes at the scene. An awkward silence is hanging in the air, with both Reid and Gideon giving each other looks. They both have questions that need answering, and neither of them is particularly inclined to do it with anyone else around.

‘We don’t need you here,’ she tells them. ‘Take a walk – get some air.’ Reid gives her a grateful look, to which she just nods. ‘Call me when you’re done.’

She bites her lip as she stares at the circles of blood that have painted the floor.

It’s going to be a lot of paperwork.

**…**

Once you get past the kitschy tourist gimmicks, and the neon lights, Argadnel is a fairly unremarkable city. To Reid, though, it’s still surreal:

Today is the first day he sees with open eyes.

This man – Dr. Gideon – is responsible for bringing him into the world, and he needs to know why. There’s still a part of him that thinks that no matter the reason, it’s never going to be enough to justify what had been done to him.

‘How are you, Spencer?’ Gideon asks, and it’s simultaneously the most frustrating and the most inadequate question that he has ever heard. To this man, all Reid is is an experiment. To this man, the real Spencer Reid is dead.

And that’s the moment when Spencer Reid realizes the truth.

It’s like a sledgehammer, crashing into him, knocking all the air from his lungs.

He _doesn’t_ need to know the reason why.

He doesn’t need to know how, or what, or who.

All he knows is that he is his mother’s son.

And really, that’s enough.

For today.


	38. Chapter 38

David Rossi feels the enormous rush of power. It overcomes him, and though he’ll never admit it to anyone, he’s pretty sure he almost blacked out from the sheer force of it. His vision grays at the edges, and he grips his staff to make sure that he doesn’t fall to the ground.

It’s powerful enough that he knows Elle had ignored his warning, that she is putting every ounce of her strength into the blast. It’s like a nuclear explosion, only worse and Rossi is really, really glad that he’s not on the receiving end of it.

The surge continues for a good few seconds before washing out like the tide. Rossi manages to catch Elle before she falls to the ground, her face pale, lifeless. He puts a hand to her cheek, and the skin is cold to the touch, but she’s breathing. Barely.

Raids like this are the reason an ambulance tags along; Rossi’s fairly sure that he hasn’t gone three raids without someone blowing up a house because they don’t want to go to prison, or trying to hypnotize an agent, or, on one memorable occasion, trying to seduce an entire S.W.A.T team into submission. They don’t get all that many Siren serial killers, but the earplugs are now magic dispelling nonetheless.

Satisfied that Elle is in safe hands, he makes his way towards Hotch, who is a little less fortunate. The spell had not only knocked him down, but interfered with respiration, so the paramedics are working towards getting him breathing before they move him anywhere.

Fear is a strange thing.

This isn’t the first life-threatening situation that has ended with paramedics, and Rossi doubts that it will be the last. He’s fairly sure that he’s spent at least a dozen nights in hospital waiting rooms over the last six months alone. Hotch nearly gets his throat torn apart by a psychotic vampire, JJ gets blasted by psychic energy, Anath’s Circle nearly take out the whole damn team…

Even after all that, he’s still a little bit afraid, every time that one of them is in danger.

Today is somehow even more trying, because the team is separated by nearly a whole damn country, and he doesn’t know whether they’ve found Reid, or if they’ve all mysteriously been eaten by the legendary land kraken that supposedly roams the Pilgrim Desert that runs between Argadnel and Casimir.

Stranger things have happened.

Maybe it’s time to retire.

Of course, retirement is by no means a guarantee of peace and quiet. When your life has been so fraught with evil sorcerers and pirate ninjas and zombies, it becomes engrained. It becomes life blood. The saying goes “an FBI agent never retires. They just get better furniture,” because apparently the Bureau’s horrendous office chairs are even more legendary than the kraken.

Even still, he lets out the softest sigh of relief when the paramedics succeed in their task. The sight of Hotch’s chest rising and falling is the most joyous sight that he’s seen all day. Maybe on par with seeing Elle for the first time in so long. The sorcerers that had come to kill her were dead, and he knew that there would be an inquiry – if not for that, then for the three sorcerers she had killed before today.

Amnesia and culpability are strange bedfellows.

Retirement may not be an option, but at the very least, they’re all due a vacation.

Somewhere with sun might be nice.

**…**

JJ wakes up with a start, only she isn’t really awake; that much, she knows almost immediately. Lucid dreaming had been the first of many side effects of becoming psychic, but this isn’t quite that either. It’s a dream, but she isn’t alone.

‘Hello?’ She’s in a seemingly endless void, with no physical characteristics, but her voice echoes anyway. The void turns into a church, with a high roof, and hundreds of pews. That’s not right either, though, and the church turns into a forest, trees stretching towards the night sky. It’s her dream, so there really don’t need to be any stars in the sky, but she likes her dreams to be as accurate as possible. It makes them easier to deal with.

She feels his consciousness before she sees him. It’s more welcome, more familiar than the depths of her own mind, and that’s kind of frightening. JJ pushes through the undergrowth, trying to find him. The forest ends, and there’s a hill there instead.

He’s on top of the hill, staring up at the sky.

‘Hotch?’

It’s kind of strange. He’s here, inside her mind, and yet she can’t quite bring herself to call him Aaron. That, more than anything, reminds her of how afraid she is.

‘JJ?’ He stands, a little startled. ‘Is this…are we dead?’ He sounds almost fearful, though she isn’t sure why. The Aaron Hotchner she knows is as stoic, as unflinching in death as he is in life.

‘No.’ JJ shakes her head. ‘No, we’re not dead.’

She sits down, and the grass is wet with dew. After a few moments, Hotch sits beside her, and they’re granted a few moments of silence.

‘I remember getting hit with a spell,’ he says eventually, frowning.

‘Lucky,’ JJ says with a bitter laugh. ‘Spells knock you out almost instantly. I got hit with a bullet.’

His brow furrows in concern, and JJ gives him a shaky smile, trying to alleviate his concern. ‘I kind of knew it was coming,’ she tells him with a half shrug. It should hurt, but there are no wounds on this psychic plane.

He doesn’t scold her for recklessness, but then, it isn’t exactly the place for it.

‘Where are we?’ he asks, finally.

‘In hospital?’ she ventures. ‘This…I think this is a psychic link of some kind; our minds are compensating for bodily injury.’

‘So I’m not dreaming?’

She gives him a smile. ‘It’d be a pretty good dream, if you were.’

‘It would.’ Hotch doesn’t smile often, but when he does, it lights up his whole face. The worry lines disappear, and he looks as though the weight of the world has been lifted from his shoulders.

‘I’m sorry for letting you go to Argadnel,’ he says eventually. JJ gives him a look.

‘This won’t work if you try to insulate me,’ she tells him. ‘I’m a trained field agent.’ With a raised eyebrow, she adds, ‘And how is this _any_ different from you getting yourself blasted by wizards?’

For a man of unrivalled stoicism, he has the best innocent look she has ever seen.

The silence is long, but it’s not uncomfortable. Not awkward. JJ has known Aaron Hotchner for a long time, long enough to be able to just sit there and appreciate his company.

‘Did you want to grab dinner sometime?’ he asks, and JJ smiles. Just because she’d known he was going to ask, doesn’t make it any less amazing.

‘Absolutely,’ she says.


	39. Chapter 39

He walks away from Gideon without looking back.

There’s blood on his hands – both metaphorical blood, and literal blood. Austin’s dead. He’s not sure what to think about that. He hadn’t known her very long, but she had been the first person to accept him for what he is.

The team…that’s a can of worms that he still hasn’t processed yet. They know – they’ve always known – but they’ve always been there for him too. They’d flown across the country to find him. JJ had taken a bullet to save his life. Forgiveness might take a while, but with family, you make the effort.

He doesn’t even bother speaking to the receptionist as he walks into the ARE building once more. A stranger might see his movements as single-minded, but really he’s jut in a daze.

Upstairs, he finds Emily, though she seems somewhat surprised to see him. ‘Hey.’

‘Hey,’ he replies. He stops beside her, staring down at the bloodstains. It’s like some macabre rite of passage. No longer is he a wooden puppet, no longer a clockwork boy. No longer is he the junior agent that they look to for words, rather than actions.

‘I’m going to head over to the hospital – did you want a ride?’

‘That would be good.’

The drive is a silent one. There isn’t much to be said.

‘Did you know?’ he asks eventually. ‘Did they tell you?’

‘They didn’t have to,’ she replies, and he’s kind of grateful for her frankness. ‘If it helps…if I hadn’t been able to sense it, I wouldn’t have figured it out.’

‘It doesn’t.’

‘I know.’ She pauses. ‘For a long time, I cast myself out – I knew what I was, and I hated it. Probably more than they hated me. It took a while to figure out that the best way to deal with it was to just accept it, and move on. The situation is completely different, but…’

He nods. ‘Thank-you.’

They find Morgan pacing in the waiting room, and Emily blatantly excuses herself to go find coffee. At first, Reid finds himself not quite able to meet Morgan’s gaze.

‘How is she?’ he asks, eyes barely meeting Morgan’s.

‘Still in surgery, but…the doctors are hopeful.’

Reid nods. There’s silence for a few more moments before Morgan says, ‘I’m sorry, Reid,’ in a somber voice. Morgan usually calls him “kid” or “pretty boy” so proper nouns are something of a step forward.

‘Don’t apologize,’ he replies, his voice sharp. Morgan looks a little stunned. ‘Don’t try to make up for what you did. I’ll come to terms with it in my own time.’

Morgan nods. ‘Okay.’

Emily returns with three coffees, and news. ‘I called Rossi – he says they found Elle.’

Morgan breathes a sigh of relief, and Reid’s a little surprised to hear himself doing the same.

‘Apparently she blasted the crap out of the sorcerers that Anath’s Circle sent to meet them. She and Hotch are in hospital, but they’ll be okay.’

There’s a shaky laugh from Morgan. ‘Sometimes I think we should start bringing mattresses,’ he says. ‘The amount of time we spend in hospitals.’

All in all, the day could have gone a lot worse.

**…**

It’s late afternoon when they finally make it back to the hotel. Garcia is spending the night at the hospital with JJ, and Reid had told them that he’d be going “out,” though Morgan heavily suspects that he’ll be spending the night at the Capgras Institution with Diana.

He hasn’t said anything about the death of his father, or the death of Austin St. Clair, or really, anything at all regarding the events of the past few days.

‘You want to go out for dinner, or just get room service?’ he asks Emily, who looks a little withdrawn.

She blinks.

‘Um…room service, I guess.’ She stretches. ‘I’m gonna go take a shower.’ She smells of sweat and blood; the bullet wound is no doubt already healing, but it’s taking its toll. Once she’s finished, she steps out in sweatpants and a tank top; her hair is wet, and the scent of hotel body wash has all but replaced the other smells.

‘Pancakes?’ he asks, going over the room service menu. ‘It’s dinner-time, sure, but I doubt they’re out of flour. Probably have peanut butter, too.’

Emily gives a tired laugh. ‘I think I’m more in the mood for half a dozen steaks. Rare, rather than set alight.’

‘Well, hopefully the four-star restaurant chefs know how to work the stove.’ He winks, hyperaware of the metaphorical crickets chirping. ‘Is everything okay?’

‘It’s been a long day.’

‘Been a long week,’ he counters. It kind of drives home the fact that he doesn’t really know anything about her. Doesn’t even know if he can trust her. He _wants_ to trust her, and he’s pretty sure that’s not just his pants talking. She’s beautiful, intelligent, intriguing.

She’s also a vampire, which, up until a few days ago, he would have considered a deal-breaker.

He doesn’t have a full moon hangover, and the exhaustion that’s bone deep is mostly from the build-up of events, rather than any excessive physical activity. Thus, they only manage two steaks between them, though Emily does eat enough dessert for half a dozen people.

‘It gets the taste of blood out of my mouth,’ she tells him with a shrug, which he can’t really argue with. There’s something awkward still hanging in the air, and he doesn’t quite know what.

‘Is this about Anath’s Circle?’ he persists, ‘The memory loss? Amnesia’s pretty common, it’s okay to—’

‘It’s not that,’ she snaps. Her pupils are huge, dark things – a look he usually associates with blood lust. _She can’t have fallen off the wagon? Eating a steak couldn’t have done that, could it?_

 She shakes her head. ‘I can’t do this, Derek,’ she says finally.

_Okay, so not blood lust._

‘Do what?’ he frowns.

‘This. Us.’ She gestures between them, and in one horrific second, Morgan realizes that he’s being dumped. It’s unexpected, to say the least, considering he hadn’t really been sure what was going on anyway.

‘Oh,’ is all he manages.

‘I’m sorry.’ Emily stands, shaking her head. ‘It was probably a bad time to do this.’

He feels funny. Upset? Yes, probably, but it’s too soon to tell. He’s confused even further when she leans down to kiss him on the cheek.

‘Goodnight, Morgan.’

He’s too stunned to say anything.

**…**

Emily retreats to her own room with a heavy heart. She likes Morgan, as much as she can like the aggressive, vampire-hating werewolf with a heart of gold. Part of her isn’t even sure why she’d done it, but then she remembers.

She’s doing this to protect him.

Everyone she gets close to always seems to end up hurt; there’s a difference between letting people close to you, and letting people _close_ to you.

She curls into a ball underneath the blankets. The neon lights aren’t quite blocked out by the curtains, but she falls asleep easily.

_The extravagant hall is so different, yet so familiar. She’s been here once before, and that hadn’t ended very well at all. It had ended in blood._

_This will end in blood too._

_The wooden stake is smooth in her palm. There are some types of wood that will burn her, through skin and muscle and flesh, all the way to the bone. This isn’t one of them._

_Her mother stands in front of her, long, flowing dress, elegant hair. ‘You know what you have to do, Emily,’ her mother says, only it’s not her mother, it’s her mind. Suddenly, she’s thrusting the stake, only it’s her mother’s hand that pulls her in the right direction. The stake pierces the skin, right at the heart. Crimson blood spreads like a flower blossom, living and dying in a matter of seconds._

_‘You know what you have to do,’ her mother repeats, only this time there’s blood trickling from her lip, and her eyes are completely black._

_Emily knows._

_She has to go home._


End file.
